


War? Let's play Quidditch instead!

by FizzlePapercrown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also post- and before war, Angst, Cats, Drinking, Emotional Abuse, Homophobia, Kinda happy ending?, M/M, Minor Character Death, Quidditch, Rivals to Lovers, Self-Harm, Swearing, Triggers, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:22:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25805806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FizzlePapercrown/pseuds/FizzlePapercrown
Summary: Their life starts and ends with Quidditch. Quidditch is what brought them together and will keep them apart in the end.But after everything, it'll be what puts the pieces back together.(or: the life of some of the Slytherin gang during and after the war.)
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, Terence Higgs/Adrian Pucey
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. Before the storm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ff in 13 years and my first in English in general.  
> Don't like it? Don't read it. Cause it might be dark and twisty.  
> Have fun!  
> The first two chapters are more about war, Quidditch, and some Slytherins in general.

Marcus Flint had never been a man of many words. If you'd ask the Gryffindor Quidditch team and his so-called biggest rivals he was more like a troll. His mouth grunting, his fist hitting. Not thinking just doing. And that not even good.

If you'd ask Marcus on the other hand, he wouldn't tell you, that he thought he was thinking too much. (I mean who does this? Thinking about thinking... Just him.) His head was full of conversations that were done a long time ago. Still so present that they stole him from the real world and dragged him into dark places. He wouldn't tell you, that on some days the thought of failing his N.E.W.T's again, startle him from sleep and keep him awake all night. It didn't help that his old roommates (who'd give him shit for waking them up) had finished school months ago without him and that he trusted his new ones just as far as Malfoy could go through a day without complaining about Potter.

The only time you'd get a word out of the youngest member of the Flint family now that Higgs had left the school (and a grumpy Marcus and a bundle of nerves called Adrian Pucey behind him) was on the pitch. He'd give shit to Malfoy for not being nearly as good in the position as a seeker as Higgs used to be. He'd give shit to his beaters because he still hasn't got used to the fact that Wood had the luck to get two identical masterminds, and he was stuck with two idiots who wouldn't understand that a bludger had to knock someone from the broom to make up for Malfoys incompetence. Sometimes he'd even give shit to Montague and Warrington. Even though they were the least annoying members of the team. And last but not least (definitely least nobody should lie about that) he'd give shit to Oliver Wood. Not just because he was a Gryffindor and everybody expected them to hate each other's guts, but also because of his pure existence. The Starboy, which everybody seemed to love. The wreck he was when something went out of track. Everything about Wood sent hate through his veins. The sight of his face alone called for a clenched fist. Flint couldn't remember how it started. The only thing he knew was that his hatred towards the keeper got worse over the last summer holidays.

**~•~**

**one day before the last Quidditch game of the year**

Eight months into the second try of Marcus’ final year at Hogwarts nothing had changed. Apart from the fact that he was now talking to the newest member of the common room. Mr. Murray, his kitten. Half of his team was seated on a couch across from him and send him confused looks but nobody was brave enough to raise their voice. Even though the situation was kinda strange, and Flint was forced to repeat his last year, he was still the captain and nobody doubted the captain. And after their fall out a year ago, the only thing Malfoy did was rolling his eyes.

"If you don't give your best tomorrow, you better not come back to the common room. I'll rip every one of you apart. So the only thing your parents will receive is an unidentified bundle of flesh and bones," to some the cruel threat lost a bit of its impact because he whispered it to the kitten while scratching it behind the ears, and fully ignoring his team. For some.

The only person snickering in the room was little Pucey, who was watching the spectacle from the distance while leaning on a wall. Hidden from everyone's eyes except Marcus'. He didn't mind him before Higgs had left the school. He had thought the boy had a crush on the former seeker, but at the beginning of the year, his full attention turned from Higgs to Flint. Marcus didn't know if the boy was hoping for some kind of information from him or if he had a complex. Maybe he even wanted in his team?

"Now go and make yourself useful. Don't stare at me like I'm going to tell you what you can do with your free time, Bletchley. I couldn't care less. I’m not your goddamn mother." Flint’s voice remained blank, but his eyebrows shot up. Within a few seconds, the team got up and left the common room in hurry. Still, the captain after all.

Flint addressed his next words at the person who stepped grinning out of the shadow. "Do I have to repeat myself? You should know better than that." As said, he didn’t mind Pucey but he wasn’t his friend either. Higgs was his friend…kinda.

The brunet waved at the kitten and made some strange noises to get it's attention. "Hello, Mr. Murray." Then he dropped onto the sofa across from Marcus.

"Fucking Hufflepuff," the chaser mocked in a low voice and went back to read the only important part of the daily prophet without wasting another glance at Pucey.

**~•~**

**a few hours after the last game of the year**

"You did what?" a sharp voice cut through the silence of the changing rooms and caused Flint to roll his eyes.

He would recognize this accent everywhere. Even if he hadn't heard it in ages. It was burned in his brain and in a strange way bound to the best thing in his life: Quidditch. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he wouldn't want it any other. This voice was one of the reasons he was one of the best chasers Hogwarts had ever seen. Because he had to be better than him. But in this second he just wanted to be left alone and invisible for the rest of the world. It wasn't like he appreciated the tone of it or anything like that.

So there was no reason why he should have turned around. He did it anyway and send a bored look in Wood's direction. "I'm not in the mood for our..." He pointed between them. "This whole rivalry thing we've going on. So shove your smugness down your throat and piss off." He banged his locker door shut and prayed for Wood to just leave him alone. It had already cost him too much to not beat any of his teammates. Wood was the last one he'd be able to hold back from hitting.

They had lost. And not just for a few points. The scoring, in the end, had been 230 to 20. And Flint couldn't even blame it on his teammates. He wouldn't go that far to blame it on himself either. But maybe on the week. The month. This year. The circumstances. His family or life in general.

It had been his last time on this pitch, and he messed up.

Wood barely took his time to send Flint a strange look then did what he could the best. Holding one of his dumb speeches. "What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?" Or just babbling in general.

Nope, he wouldn't go through this disaster again. The Slytherin headed straight for the door. He was not in the mood to hear it out of Wood's mouth. Not yet and probably never in his whole life. But the Gryffindor thought otherwise and stepped in his way. Didn't even hesitate or stopped talking. The only give away about his emotion was his face, which was getting redder every second. "You...you can't just - You have to be on the pitch. You are- "

"You better go out of my way or otherwise I made you regret the day you stepped through this fucking door." Yep, definitely not in the mood to talk this through. It was bad enough that he had to go through this game over and over again in his own mind. In the end, the result was clear his father was right he was just a failure after all.

Wood doesn't even bat an eye but rambled further. "Rumor said you won't even think about trying out for a pro-team. So, you better tell me how wrong they're or... Fuck Flint, not even you can be that dumb."

For a short moment, Flint only could stare disbelievingly at the Gryffindor. Not even bothering to ask where he heard about it. The next second he slammed him into the next locker and pointed a warning finger at him. "Don't even think about telling me what I can and can not do. You're a nobody to me and you sure as fuck haven't any matter in this decision." It costs all of Flint's (kinda not even existing) self-control to keep his hands from trembling or even closing around the other boy's throat.

The only persons strong enough to decide which way his life was going to lead after graduation were his parents. First of all, he was their son. A Flint. One of the most respected families of the wizard worlds. Their only child. They didn't care what he did in his free time as long as he had good grades. (Yeah, his last summer had been goddamn awful.) They might be disappointed because he decided for a position as captain and therefore against one as a perfect but as long as his ass was ending up in the ministry they wouldn't bat an eye about it. A Flint had no other place in the world than the highest. So fucking Oliver Wood wasn't in a place to discuss Flint's job choice and give him his unwanted opinion about it.

"Oh, I'm shaking. Your threats really getting under my skin," Wood gave him a bored look and rolled his eyes. "We both know that they're nothing but hot air. So..."

For the matter of fact, here again: No self-control.

Flint heard enough. Hot air, sure as he wished. So he slammed his fist into Wood's face and send him to the ground. It was more due to the surprise on Marcus' side than actual force behind the punch itself. The shiver of anger which had made his way through his body, and had left his veins filled with hot rage, but his stomach as a bottomless hole of panic, took most of the strength from it. Anyway Wood pressed this thumb to a little cut at his lip then opened his mouth again. "Don't," was all Marcus managed to say and whatever the other boy saw at his face made him swallow his words and not even fight back. Flint stared at him only for another short moment then went back to his locker.

**~•~**

The next day a wet haired Gryffindor found his way to the Slytherin table and sat himself across from Flint. "What the fuck, Wood," Marcus cast a glance across the hall to make sure no one was watching them. But apart from Trelawney, nobody was in the great hall at such a strange time on a Sunday afternoon. To make it clear: The Divination Professor didn't count because she was looking into the distance since...maybe hours.

Wood opened his mouth, his eyes landed on the black fluffball in Marcus arms, and he closed it again. "Uhm... I thought maybe you've stomached your loss, and we could talk about your awful life decision." Flint was a heartbeat from snapping at Wood when he saw his Rival was shaking his head at himself. "You've a kitten..." Maybe he could set Mr. Murray on the table and distract Wood long enough to get away from him. But Marcus was no coward. Maybe he was a coward in some points but not when it came to Oliver Wood and this stupid obsession with long unnecessary speeches.

"Go away, Wood. We're not talking about this. Let's make an actual deal to not ever talk about it again. " He made his point clear and hoped Wood was bright enough to take the big hint. "Unless you get off to such kind of things." Even before Marcus saw the slight frown on Wood's face he regretted his words. Maybe he was really that dumb. "And in that case, fuck off." He cringed. Really? Was that necessary?

Flint started to return to his essay for Flitwick. "Jesus Wood can you stop looking at my - the cat."

"Did you steal it?," the Gryffindor gave him a serious look then rolled his eyes at Flint's death glare.

What was the most annoying thing about Wood? His ongoing speeches? His stupid face? His obsession with Quidditch? Even if he himself wasn't any better? The fact that he had nowadays the strange desire to get involved in Flint's life? Maybe his existence in general?

"Don't you have friends to bother? Or maybe even an own business to mind? Even if it seems like a strange concept to you." Marcus' gaze wandered from Trelawny, who was getting up to leave the great hall to Wood's hands. Did this idiot really draw Quidditch strategies on his hands? Goddammit, he was such a junkie.

Wood tore his eyes from Mr. Murray and raised his gaze until he met Marcus' several inches above. "I've friends. Kinda... Which is more than I can say for you. But they're distracting- Which isn't the point why I came here to speak to you!" He sighed and ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

Was Marcus in the front row of Oliver Wood's mental breakdown? A low voice in his head noted that he should enjoy this. Every other part of him wanted to run away from this conversation and the Gryffindor. Coward! He was no one to hold hands when someone was down. (Also this was Oliver Wood so it wouldn't even happen if he were some kind of empathetic...) Goddammit, Flint even kicked Higgs when he was down and told him to get his ugly ass up and come with him to the pitch. Later he dumped this idiot for better brooms. So...it wouldn'd happen. Ever. Also, Marcus had definitely no desire in seeing Oliver Wood cry. There was only a certain amount of damage, which their strange relationship could stomach, and he had the feeling that they were on their way to cross a line. He glanced down at the kitten. Maybe...?

Wood clenched his fists as if to prepare himself for his next words. "I know what I'll say now is against everything we are." No...no. What now? "But this is Quidditch and it doesn't care about such things."

Marcus was about to open his mouth and tell him to shut the fuck up, but his tongue didn't work. Even his fist laid useless on top of Mr. Murray's fur and wouldn't let him punch Wood in the face.

Flint caught the Gryffindor briefly glancing to one side then met his eyes again. "You've a gift. A big one. Not many are as good at Quidditch as the two of us. You won't do anyone a favor in neglecting it. It would just be an extreme waste of talent. The pro teams don't fight for everyone. But they would for you. I'm sure of it. So, come to terms with whatever is going on in your head and...go pro. Take it to the championships and meet me on the pitch again."

"Hell Flint, you know how hard it is for me to admit this. Could you at least don't look at me like I'm completely mental?"

How did they get from "beating the shit out of another" to such kinds of conversations? Did he miss something? This wasn't Wood's place to be. Flint didn't even talk to Higgs about "his" job choice.

"I'm not the one making a complete fool out of himself," Flint pressed his words against the lump in his throat, but never took his eyes of Wood for a second. He hit the sore spot, but Flint wouldn't give him the pleasure of showing that. No matter what game the Gryffindor was up playing. "Mind your own business, Wood. The world isn't only just black and white and it's definitely not just about Quidditch."

"It is for us. You can't tell me that it's not the best time of the day for you when you're finally out there on the pitch. You can't tell me that most of the time your thoughts aren't all about strategies and the most recent games." All these words for nothing. His face grew slightly redder with each of them.

"Let me stop you there. No matter what kind of strange connection you think we have, it doesn't exist. The only thing we've in common is a few years on the same pitch. That's all." Flint made a short gesture with his hands to show that he was done talking about this. He had enough. Yet again. Still. Always.

Quidditch wasn't the only point in his life that made his relationship with his parents problematic. And in the end, the blood bounds were all that matters. 'True friendship' or not. If it's getting hard on hard the only persons he could trust were his parents. No matter how strict they were.

"You're lying to yourself Flint," for a short second, Marcus thought to hear a strange undertone in Wood's voice then the Gryffindor got up and left the hall without looking back again. Besides the Slytherin the great hall was empty now and yet again he felt lost. Apparently this was the mood of the year.

He tried to return to his essay but stared blankly at the paper. Wood didn't know anything about him. Maybe he did know a bit about the person Marcus wanted to be. The person deep in the inside with it's sad little wishes and desires. But he didn't know anything about the person the world wanted Marcus to be. Maybe it was better this way. It was kinda consoling to know that at least in the mind of some he would remain as his actual self and not as the upcoming facade.

"Dare you to leave my side, Murray. Mrs. Norris will skin you alive. And I'm not the one coming after you and holding your paw afterwards." He totally would. Some relationships weren't just blood after all.

**~•~**

**on the train back "home"**

A groaning scrawny something dropped into the seat across from Marcus. Face smashed in the smooth pillow of the bench, legs kicking some of Warrington’s stuff to the ground.

Flint couldn't quite make out what annoyed him the most. Pucey pretending to be his long-lost adopted dog. Warrington's ability to claim every place as his own within a few seconds. Or maybe Bole who couldn’t sit like a normal human being on a bench and rather dropped himself in front of the door.

“Don't pretend you had to do anything hard this year,” Marcus growled at Pucey and earned a low, “Yeah man, let’s not pretend,” from Bole who was now partially laying in the hallway, because Warrington had opened the door and stepped over him without commenting on his actions.

“Love letter for the captain or maybe it's already your result, and we can keep your ass as a captain for another year,” Warrington said in an amused voice and waved a letter in front of Flint's nose.

Pucey bolted upright. Flint smacked the paper out of his former teammate's hand. "It isn't. You need to find a new Daddy, Pucey. Or finally, grow some balls and live your own life," Marcus insisted before giving his attention to the letter.

The compartment went quiet, but only 'til Warrington found his voice again. “Maybe it isn't a love letter after all. Guys, the captain doesn't look right,” he kicked his foot against Marcus’ knee.

“Leave it, Cassius,” Flint got up from his seat and went towards the door.

“Damn you got a "Cassius". Boss is not amused,” Bole snickered while getting pushed back to the ground.

Idiot.

**~•~**

Green fields shot past the window, sweat ran down his spine, and for a short moment, he gasped desperately for air.

_You got this, you got this,_ he told himself over and over again until a shoe carefully tipped against his boot, and he had to look up.

“You’d like to trade?,” Pucey pointed from the cat in his hand to the letter Marcus clutched in his own. He nodded and a few seconds later he pressed a purring fluffball against his chest and gazed out of the window again. The only thing he could see was the sky, because they were sitting slumped on the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye Marcus could see Pucey looking at him and he could hear how he shoved the letter and his future back in the envelope again. "Wow...this is a big deal you've tryouts for... But you can't..." It wasn't really a question more a statement. "Higgs told me... Well actually, Higgs tells me everything."

"I know this by now," he grumbled and let Murray climb on his shoulder.

"Okay...maybe we two aren't friends but...I know you by now...kinda." Who would've thought? "And this is...this is your dream..." Marcus watched Pucey curiously from the side. Could it really make such a difference whether you grew up with pure-bloods or not? Pucey's parents had died in the war, and he'd get adopted by a couple. Marcus didn't know anything about them. If he'd guess they would be Hufflepuff's or naive Muggles. So maybe it did make a big difference. Most orphans were taken in by their next relatives or, in the case of a pure-blood without further family, passed on to another pure-blood family. Not so in Pucey's case. Really everything about this boy was weird.

"Figured this out someday. You're kinda like long-lost brothers." Pucey cringed, Marcus offered him a small grin. "I mean he is Higgs and you're a little boy. What did you think would come from it?"

Flush crept up his cheeks, and he stared into the distance. "Dunno... But he'd let you live with him you know? When your parents aren't okay with you letting your dream come true. You could just try. Maybe nothing will come from it, but it's worth a shot. Don't you think?"

"Was this a Quidditch reference?" Mr. Murray jumped gracile from his shoulder unto the floor and pawed the envelope. "Maybe you're more worth my time than I thought."

**~•~**

****

**a few weeks later, at the court of the Montrose Magpies**

Once Marcus apparated to the street in front of the monstrosity called the Montrose Magpies stadium he finally allowed his heart to beat like it tried to jump out of his chest.

Years ago after his first night in the dungeons of Slytherin, the first thing he did in the morning was to run for the pitch. It was gigantic. No comparison to the small thing he used to play on as a child. But this…this was a completely new state of gigantic. Marcus had been here several times before. As a spectator to see the best players in the country in action. Being here as a "might be something in foreseeable future" was a completely different feeling.

Might be.

Marcus soaked up the excitement. The white walls of the stadium, the black magpies on each side of it. The high walls and massive doors that led to the field. He didn't allow himself to feel much in general but in this second he was a loaded bomb of emotions. Not just positive. Mostly anxious. Anxious about this whole thing could stay a "could be" and he would never make it to an actual "is". Anxious about the consequences if he'd nevertheless made it. Flint never had any kind of luck. The only thing he had was actual skill. And the only thing he actually could and loved to do was now within reach.

He took a deep breath. He didn’t allow himself to feel much. So he wouldn't allow himself to break now. Not in this moment. Maybe later, when he had to move into Higgs small flat, or do what his parents wanted him to do and move back into his old room. But this was later. Not now. Not in this moment. It was a shot, and he was the one who’d manage to catapult the Quaffle into the goal. Maybe he wouldn't see the shock and anger in Wood's face but landing a score against Byrne was the next best thing to do. And he could manage it. Even if Byrne was an actual pro, and Marcus just a no one who just finished school he had had the best keeper to "practice" with.

Marcus never had played with a woman on his team. That was just a Slytherin thing. The real world was nothing like that. And Flint himself doesn't care much about the gender as long as they were good in the position they played at.

A tall man with dark hair came into view as Flint stepped in front of the huge walls. Maddock. Chaser of the Montrose Magpies. He was indeed crazy but an incredibly good player after all. And if someone were off by a little craziness, they definitely hadn't spent eight years in the Slytherin common room. Crazy was okay. Marcus could handle that. As long as he didn't need to handle another Malfoy-type of situation.

"Flint right?," he guessed. "Bit risky looking for a new chaser this early before the season starts, don't you think? But what can you do. The boss didn't like the last twenty guys at the tryouts, but he liked your last game and your application. So, come on in."

Marcus bit his lip to prevent himself from saying something stupid like "what application?" or "last game?" Why would they watch his last game? And who had sent them an - his application? Wood might've insisted that he keep playing and went pro, but he wasn't that desperate. Instead, Flint uttered a faint "okay" and stepped through the door behind Maddock.

**~•~**

Maddock led him into the locker room, where Marcus was peeling off the clothes he had been wearing to his interview at the Ministry a few minutes ago and threw on his practice uniform. In the meantime, Maddock never left his side or stopped talking. He rambled about some sort of muggle sport on the ground Marcus never had heard about.

So he just kept going on. Feeling like his legs could lose their ability to walk every minute. Until they were in front of some sort of committee. Marcus knew their faces and was sure he had said something to them, but his blood rushed so damn loud in his ears that he couldn't be quite sure. At least they didn't seem to mind, because they just pushed a broom in his hand and sent him into the air.

It’s worth a shot, right?

Marcus took a deep breath and in the next second, he found himself in front of the three goals and the keeper. “You're going to puke, dude?” Byrne shouted across the field and eyed him suspiciously out of the distance.

“He'll better not,” sounded a loud voice next to him and a moment later, someone appeared beside him on a firebolt. If he'd concentrate, he would've been able to assign a name to this face. After all, he had been a fan of the Magpies longer than he could stand on his own. But the idea of thinking even more than he already did make him feel sick, so he just stared at her. “Boss will kick him out immediately if he realizes he's chickening. But you're a big, fearless Slytherin, huh? Exactly the right one for this job. We play rough. You need to keep up with us, baby boy."

Walsh and Moore were agile like no chaser Marcus had ever seen before. When there was a lack of strategy they made it up with kicks to his side or blows with their elbows. By the time he came to a stop in front of the committee again, he had several bruises and was not quite sure if he could still feel all the fingers on his left hand. But he had scored several times and that was all that mattered. The first one he had admit to himself was a lucky shot and until he got used to the new set-up, it was mostly due to the team play. A few minutes later he finally got back to his old self-confident Quidditch - asshole self and scored with full force. The only reason for it being difficult or even scary, to begin with, was because he had buried this dream a long time ago. Quidditch had been a beautiful chapter in his life, but a closed one.

**~•~**

“I hate this woman,” Higgs set a cup of tea on the table in front of Marcus and sat on an armchair across his best friend. His face was full of hatred and disgust. He had never been a big fan of the Flint family and the first thing he did after graduating from Hogwarts was leaving the house of his own parents, cause he wasn't a big fan of them either.

Marcus let himself sack back into the cushions of the sofa. Somewhere in the background, Pucey was walking around like someone was after him. “Hell, put your child to bed, Higgs,” Flint said in a low voice and closed his eyes against the bright light in the living room.

“He isn’t my child,” the 'from now on player of the Montrose Magpies' didn’t open his eyes to see the same cringe creeping across Higg’s face he had seen on Pucey’s just a few weeks ago. It wasn’t his place to be. They should do what they wanted as long as they didn't destroy their "not quite friendship" - thing. “Adrian.”

“They’re monster!,” the younger boy shouted angrily but nevertheless Marcus heard his steps getting closer. “They can’t just use this curse on you. Just…because… Because what? You aren’t like they wanted you to run out? No Terence, don’t look at me like that. This is horrible and you know that. Shouldn’t we at least tell the ministry about it?”

Marcus let out a low but forceful “no” and managed to shake his head still not opening his eyes. He had got the position as a substitute chaser and had thought his parents wouldn't be home by the time he went there to get his things, but he was wrong. Both were waiting for him in the kitchen. Of course, they were. After all, he had had the interview at the ministry just a few hours ago. They didn't care much, but they did about such kind of things. It would've been a thousand times easier if he could've just written them a letter, but no he had to explain to them in person that he wasn't going to work in any pointless department of the ministry and would play from now on for the Magpies. Like Marcus, his mother had never been a woman of many words, so she just took her wand and mumbled a short "crucio". It wasn't particularly abnormal for their family, but somehow Marcus hadn't expected it, now that he'd finished school.

For Pucey this situation was new, for Higgs it wasn't.

"It doesn't matter, Adrian. He is staying here with me. And hopefully, there won't be any reason for either of us to contact our parents ever again." The armchair creaked, someone tapped on a switch. Suddenly it got even darker behind his eyelids and Marcus was finally able to open his eyes again.

Pucey was sitting in front of him on the coffee table, with Higgs right next to him. "Hi mom, hi dad," Marcus aped and immediately groaned in pain as he tried to sit up. Not only bruises but the reverberation of the curse made its way through his body. It wasn't going to be a nice night. "Apparently I'll never get rid of the two of you."


	2. You know one part of the story but nobody will ever tell you ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never did tw before. I hope I've tagged everything. Most of it is just mentioned but I still wanted to make sure that nobody got triggered. 
> 
> I tried to keep it canon conform. I have no idea how the Quidditch seasons are working out. So I adapted it a bit to soccer. (Yeah and exy...lots of exy.) Actually, I just wanted to tell the war from the perspective of the three main characters of this ff. And also write some Flintwood.
> 
> After this chapter, we're looking for a happy ending for the main idiot in this story xD
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it :D

**Four months later**

No Quidditch game was the same. Some were just a few seconds long. And thereby decided by the seeker. Others were going on for days. Weeks. Or even Month. These were based entirely on the skills of the chasers and keepers.

In this second, the current game ran more or less for twelve hours and an empathic roar went through the rows. They had seen the sun go down and the glass of the half-roof above the stadium glowing in bright orange. They had seen the stars move across the sky and tiny players transforming into misshapen shadows somewhere above them. They had seen the sun rise again, forcing tired players and spectators to avert their eyes. Many players had been replaced, some taken to the hospital and the crowd was still full of excitement. The stage shook. And now they saw Maddock get knocked out by a Bludger and crashing down in the middle of a row of seats.

"Oh damn," Higgs uttered while covering his mouth with his hand. "That reminds me again why I'm not a seeker anymore. Flint you freaky bastard." Somehow he was sitting next to Marcus on the bench of the reserve players in the team area. Every time someone got near the snitch he rocked to the end of the bench and watched with great interest. Besides that, he only stuffed his mouth full witch unhealthy sweets he found earlier at a food stand and made useless comments. Now that Marcus was on a pro team there was no more room for sweets or alcohol in his life. Just healthy stuff. That was one of the only things that sucked on his job. And maybe the fact that he was still on the bench and never part of the actual game.

"Tell your guard dog to go, Flint," grumbled an annoyed Cormack McLeod, the manager of the Magpies, beside them and leaned forward to watch, both interested and suspicious, the crowd make room for a bunch of nurses a few rows above them.

"He's my emotional support dog, to be honest, cause I'm still not playing and just wearing this uniform. It's awful hot under it. So maybe I'll go insane in the next few minutes," to show how seriously he meant his words Flint fanned himself some air with his hand. "So, he needs to stay."

"You're an awful investment. But to be fair not as awful as Murphy. Has she ever seen a snitch in her life? Did we lose it? Is it gone?," he jumped up and started waving to get the attention of the seeker. "And where the hell is Moore? Someone needs to replace Maddock. Only Merlin knows what this idiot was trying to do up there."

Higgs bit into his Pumpkin Pasty and muttered a low, "he knows that the snitch has been hanging out with the moderator for a minute now, right?"

Marcus snickered and McLeod, who of course had heard them, called out an annoyed "you got to be fucking kidding me," then he spun around and pointed at Higgs. "Can you play?"

"For fun. I really appreciate all the functions of my body and I'm not nearly as obsessed with this game as Marcus. I mean have you seen him fly? You should totally let him play!," he sent the manager a wide smile. Flint hated him, and that was the reason why they were best friends.

"Would that make you go?," the manager asked and glanced between the two former Slytherins.

"Will I get a ticket?"

"You don't have a... dammit, Flint?! Get your ass up in the air now, or I'll forget about myself."

**~•~**

"Going on for Alasdair Maddock is Marcus Flint the newest team member of the Montrose Magpies."

His skin crawled when he pushed himself off the ground and took, on his way into the air, a quick look at the scoreboard. 120 to 180 in favor for the Wimbourne Wasps.

"Flint," He had just enough time to see that Walsh had tossed the Quaffle in his direction, then the other chaser sagged a few meters towards the ground, kicked an opposing player out of her way, and yelled at him furiously. With a fluent movement, Flint snatched the Quaffle out of the air but barely got ahold of it with his fingertips. 

This was his Moment. Now he had the chance to prove McLean why he belonged on this field and team. Sure, everybody would rather choose an experienced player than a new one but Flint certainly didn't belong on a fucking bench at the side of the court.

He raised his head and looked out for the third chaser of the team and found Quinn a few yards ahead of him. Flint tried to distract the opposing team by flying in another direction, then threw the Quaffle to his mate in a long and risky pass. Quinn tossed the Quaffle further to Walsh, who had appeared out of nowhere, and after a long spin in the air, she fired the Quaffle in the goal. 130 to 180 it was a begin.

Marcus was nobody who'd spin a wheel in the air out of sheer joy but he returned Wash's first bomb as she flew past him.

It was awesome. Excitement rushed through his veins. It wasn't just the moment. Not just the goal. It was the whole game. The fact that he was able to play on a pitch again. And this time for real. Not that the games at Hogwarts weren't real but it was a difference if just two players and some students really care or if the whole ground was shaking and everyone was filled with noticeable adrenalin and the actual wish for victory

An hour had passed and he got the feeling that he was only used to knock other players out of the way or pass the Quaffle on. 

Hour thirteen began with Quinn being hit by a Bludger and exchanged by Moore. The new chaser was more likely to throw the Quaffle in Marcus' direction and after another minute he scored. On his way down the pitch (yeah...and maybe a backflip on his broom — still no wheel, okay? —) he spotted Higgs in the crowd furiously pointing in a direction. So Flint made his way up to Murphy.

It was only a few seconds later the Seeker was holding the Snitch in the air and the crowd lost its mind.

They had won.

**~•~**

**Christmas**

“Merlin's Beard… What is wrong with him? Is he making a shrine for me?” Flint cast a confused look past Higgs, who was watching Pucey.

“I guess this is a muggle thing or a normal family thing even. Cutting articles out of magazines that mentioning people you’re attached to.” He handed Marcus a cookie and grinned encouragingly at him.

“He isn’t _normal,_” he used the cookie to point aggressively at the tiny Christmas tree at the end of the room. “And he better not be attached to anyone in this room.” Now he was pointing at Higgs.

“Your parents have written again.” Marcus knew Higgs was changing the subject but he didn't care. “Mine as well. Often. I’m not quite sure what they expect to gain from it.” There was a loud crack as the board fell back to the ground again. Pucey rolled his eyes. Being a minor sucked. Marcus was the only one of them who gave up doing magic on his own terms. At least most of the time. He was just awful at it.

“Probably arranged marriages and a good reputation.” Neither of them had opened a single letter their parents had sent them. Most of the time they went straight into the fireplace. It was just a matter of time until the first Howler would arrive. The only reason it hadn't happened yet was that they were living in a Muggle apartment. Their parents wouldn’t risk exposing the wizarding world just to send a letter to their worthless sons.

“Let me help ya.” Higgs got up and took the board out of Pucey's hands. It was a weird thing. Just like the boy who had made it. A hodgepodge of all the articles mentioning Flint. He didn’t know why someone would do something like that…for him. 

Maybe he was just awful with Christmas presents. He got Higgs a broomstick servicing kit for a broom he hasn’t used since Marcus had kicked him out of the Quidditch team. (Marcus needed to keep up his hope to find someone to play against over the holidays. Some might say that he was desperate. He would say he was dedicated and just a little bit desperate. They had "allowed" him to play real games a couple of times after they had seen him at his first game...but it wasn't nearly enough to still the hunger that grew in him. To some it was just a game...but still... He had the feeling that out there was only one other person who’d understand him. Not even his teammates seem to get him. But they were also old and had families ... Blah, blah.)

“Shall I go? So the two of you can snug under the mistletoe again? Too early? I see…“ He had stumbled into a strange encounter this morning. Involved were an enchanted mistletoe and the two guys who now turned their red faces away from him. Still, not his business.

“If you’ll ever bring this up again. I’ll bring up the way you’re watching the seeker of the Tornados or your strange former relationship with Wood,” Higgs hissed at him, as the board … this thing … was attached to the wall and Pucey had vanished into the kitchen.

Flint gave him a confused look. “What are you talking about?”

“Yeah … you know what? I am not the person who’ll have this conversation with you. I’m definitely to sober for this shit.”

**~•~**

**A week after Diggory's death**

It had been an awful week. Marcus couldn’t quite tell why. He and Diggory had never been very close. They had talked on the pitch and that, unlike him and Wood, like normal people. He hasn't been as annoying as the little prick the Ravenclaw team had called their captain and Marcus couldn't stand. He was truly a nice guy. Somehow it seemed like everyone had liked him. 

But now he was dead, and on some impulse, perhaps because he had read about Potter's claim that 'You-Know-Who' was back, Marcus had opened his father's last letter and after reading it, he had the bad feeling that his parents might not be entirely innocent about this whole situation. Perhaps not really involved, but also not completely unknowing. After all, they were still the Flint family and both of his parents carried the dark mark on their arms. 

People always said he was stupid so maybe he had misinterpreted that letter and Potter just wanted to seem important. So everything was still the same. It couldn't... He didn't want to... Whatever costed Diggory's death was...maybe just an accident after all. That dumb Triwizard Tournament. They should've known better. Even he would've known better.

After a year of abstinence, he clutched now a mug of Firewhisky in his hand and stared in the distance. He couldn't even be gleeful during today's game against Puddlemere when he scored a goal against Wood. For a split second, they just stared at each other in shock, then the letter got to his mind again, and he turned away. 

The rest of the day was a vague blur in his memory. And now he was seated in a pub nearby the stadium without a real destination. Just a mug and him. 

"May I?," sounded a familiar voice nearby. When Marcus looked up he saw Wood next to his table who looked like he just had stepped out of the shower. What a weird déjà vu.

"You look like death himself...sure why not." _Or your strange former relationship with Oliver Wood_, echoed Higgs’ voice in his head and he gave Wood a quick once-over from the side. The keeper had a pained expression on his face and dark circle under his eyes. 

Everyone knew that Flint was made up of sharp edges and would never comfort anyone. He'd rather say something to made it even worse, and then just disappeared so he'd never have to deal with stranger problems. It had got better now that he was no longer living with his parents, but he'd probably never be the kind of person you went to with your problems. So Wood wasn't here to be comforted either. So everything was still the same. Nothing strange to see here. Just two former rivals in a pub. Everything was totally normal.

“Yeah, it has been a rough week. You don't look so bad yourself either,” he said sarcastically but gave him only a half annoyed look, then picked up Marcus' mug, looked inside, and studied its consent with a confused look. "We're still in the middle of the season and you're drinking?"

“Are you lecturing me again? Can’t we just sit here and have a normal conversation about - I don’t know. Quidditch for instance? And to make things clear, the season is almost over, and we're out. So...no point for me to not drink." Higgs was an a hundred times better seeker then Murphy could ever be but this idiot had to sit his whole damn day at Gringotts. What a waste. _That could've been you if not for this idiot in front of you and Pucey,_ sounded a low voice in his head. Sure...but it wasn't. ”Do you think that it'll tell you the future if you just look long enough at it? Also, shouldn’t you tell me how awesome you where tonight and how much my team could’ve done if it weren’t for our bad players or strategies?“

“Your game was awesome. Your seeker wherever? Horrible. After Murray the Magpies had a big lack of good players in this position,” with these words, he drowned Marcus’ firewhisky and grimaced immediately in disgust. Marcus just blinked at him in confusion. “Yuck ... why should you do that to yourself? This is gross," the keeper coughed. What just happened?

After Marcus could use his brain properly again he refused to take the mug back. “You’re not a real human being.” When he looked at Wood this time, he noticed that the skin and freckles around his cheeks had a little blush on them. Still a normal conversation of two rivals or...former rivals. Maybe still rivals but not quite as intense as it used to be. Maybe that was due to Diggory's death.

"Yeah, I'm totally not. I'm just a keeper. Quidditch in person if you like," the strangest part of their conversation was that, despite the slurring and his heavy accent, Flint was still able to understand Wood.

"New Year, same question. Do you have no friends to spend your time with?," even if he didn't know why and he knew he would be the one paying for their drinks, he raised his arm and ordered another round for them.

"Although I don't see why this should concern you, I have friends but they're still at Hogwarts. And Percy is a little ..." he shooked his head and shrugged. "But nobody speaks Quidditch, you know what I mean? You know, 'cause you're speaking it."

"I know you're getting drunk after just one cup, yes. And I already told you that we haven't much in common. Not even in Quidditch, we see eye to eye," new mugs appeared at the top of the table, and Marcus shoved one of them over to the keeper.

"Isn't it a good thing? At least it won't get boring. A good discussion needs two different opinions." Wood peered at him from behind long lashes and returned his quick once-over from before.

"And in our case, punches and a rough tone." He ignored the feeling that the sad smile that spread on Wood's face made him feel. He had to blame it on the alcohol. They weren't two to have normal conversations. As soon as they were back on the pitch and normal circumstances, their fists would fly again. And that was a good thing...kinda because for some reason he wouldn't want Wood to ignore him.

"That's our thing. The others don't need to get it."

Still just a normal conversation and totally not weird at all.

**~•~**

He shoved a pile of letters from the kitchen desk and pulled the Daily Prophet towards him. "Sure you can read?," a grinning Lucian Bole dropped on a seat across from him and studied the paper in his hand with a challenging look.

"It's called dyslexia not that you would know," Flint grumbled his annoyed answer and attempted to ignore Bole. 

In front of the window next to them, the sun began to rose and somewhere in these walls, Pucey was up to mischief or rather tried to keep Mr. Murray out of one of Higgs' planters.

"It makes reading and writing difficult for him, but as long as it's about Quidditch he understands everything. Don't think I'd do laundry for any of you," Higgs send his last words with a pointing look in Bole's direction then he sat down at the table as well and pulled his abandoned cup of coffee back to him. 

Something seemed not right. It only took Flint a second then he looked up in disbelieve at both of them. "What is he doing here?"

"Being a pain in my ass, just like you," Higgs said without batting an eye and ripped the forgotten newsletter out of Flint's hands. "Speaking of if I find out you're smoking those weird Muggle things in my kitchen again, you can look for a new apartment.

Knowing Higgs was bluffing, Flint ignored him and kept going on asking about the "why" in Bole's being here. "Why is he?" Was there even enough room for all of them? Flint knew there was an upstairs part of the flat he had never seen before, cause be was just sleeping, eating, and showering here, and therefore doesn't need to know everything about this godawful place. But was there really enough room for the three of them and sporadic Pucey? There was no way he was going to share a room with Bole, that much was certain.

"Cause the poor boy is kinda homeless, just like you. Don't look at me like that, he's _your_ friend, not mine. I'm doing you a favor, and don't come at me with your 'I don't have any friends' you've way too many, that's the real problem here," then he pointed the newsletter at Bole, "But you can't bring this girl with you without telling us, she's still a muggle. We can't get exposed just because of her. That would be way too much stress."

Bole waved, with a disappointed look on his face, at Pucey who brought a meowing Mr. Murray back from upstairs with him. "Why can Flint bring these guys with him every n- Ouch, why are you kicking me? Are you still pissed of me because I made fun of you for Wood being a part of the main team and you're still sitting on a bench? Ouch! Take your cat out of my face it's a monster." 

It took a few minutes and both of Higgs' and Pucey's strength to keep them both apart from another. In the end, even Flint was covered in cuts from Mr. Murray's claws and Higgs ordered them to continue this conversation later, never or outside the kitchen. While leaving them both to it, he muttered under his breath that he had no idea why he was doing this to himself. He could just have a nice calm life and maybe some time with... Yeah, and then he was gone.

**~•~**

**April**

As expected, they were on it again. And not only them, but a bunch of reporters led by Rita Skeeter was also marching towards the two men from across the field. It may not be obvious why of all people Skeeter was here, - when there where by far more experienced Quidditch reporters out there -, but it was the hottest event of the year. Montrose Magpies versus Puddlemere United. It was a blast. Well...it was for some. 

And it was definitely not the first game these two players where spotted fighting. It had started at the end of last season, two weeks after their friendly meet up in the pub. He had not even been at their own game. It had been a pure coincidence that they were viewers of the same match. And no one could’ve guessed that the reporters would turn away from the actual match just to take a good shot of two players from different teams going for each other's throats. 

The next time they were caught fighting was at a charity game. This was two months after Flint was officially accepted into the official main team lin-up. Today he couldn't even remember to which organization the collected money went. The fighting wasn't good PR for his team.

Even if he'd never talk like that to another player and really tried to keep his temper under control McLean had forbidden him to talk to players of other teams if reporters were around. It wasn't like Flint would even care and it had been Wood who had rushed towards him after today's game. 

He ignored the reporters and the hot rush that flowed through his body as the keeper shoved his chest. When did he ever care about what people thought of him? He was also too good as a chaser to be scared that McLean would kick him out. He was a blessing for his team. So he didn't step back from Wood as he shoved him instead he grabbed his sleeve so the other one couldn't turn away from him.

This was normal. This was what he needed. Stupid arguments with Oliver Wood. Not these disturbing letters from his parents or Bole's loud muggle-parties at their flat. 

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? You could’ve killed her! The bludger, is after all these years, still not _your_ business, Flint! I don't know how you can still play in your position after all these years if you haven't understood that yet. Maybe its time for a change in position," Wood yelled at him and Flint had a hard time suppressing a grin. 

“Did you see her? She was looking like she was carrying a baby up there. How long did she hold on to the fucking quaffle, half of the game?,” Flint snapped back, still holding Wood's gaze.

“She was doing her fucking Job, Flint!,” a camera clicked and the world brightened up for a brief moment again, then it was just the two of them and the rain again. “What cannot be said of you! You, idiot! Just tell me, what that was? I need to understand your super rare and unbeatable tactics.” Wood tried to tear his sleeve off Flint grip. “You’ve won this game. Don't ever think this will become our old habit again.” At his next words, Flint let go of Wood as if he was struck by a lightning. “What do you want from me, Flint?”

What did he want from him? 'Nothing' was the right answer and also at the tip of his tongue. But the thought of an evening many months ago, and Wood laughing at a dumb joke he had made, let him pause for a brief second. And maybe also the fact, that - after Marcus had come to terms with his sexuality and allowed himself to think about men - Wood had been the first one to come to his mind. He then went on bringing a new man home almost every night so he wouldn't have to think about 'his strange relationship with Oliver Wood'. He never had blamed himself. Clearly Wood was a good looking guy. He just didn't want to think about it. After all, he was still Marcus Flint, a troll, and he would never have a chance with someone like Wood. Not that he wanted to. No. No. No. Definitely not. Where did this thought even come from?

“I wasn't the one bothering to run all the way down the pitch to speak to you. Ever thought about that?,“ he raised his eyebrow. 

The rain had drowned out the footsteps that had brought the manager up to them, but his voice was loud and clear as he snarled angrily in Marcus's ear. “Haven’t I told you to not talk to this keeper ever again? I could swear I have. You’re off the pitch for today, no interviews. Got it?” He waited until Marcus tore his eyes from Wood, who was still staring angrily at him, then continued, “You have a visitor." With that, he turned to the reporters, who were holding up their cameras and notepads while standing in a semicircle around them. Marcus shot another look in Wood's direction. He looked like they'd done something completely different than just yelling at each other. 

As he stormed off towards the locker room, he heard some reporters shouting his name after him.

**~•~**

Marcus' certain steps came to a sudden halt when he spotted a man with dark hair in the hallway in front of the changing rooms. He suppressed a choke. 

After dozens of ignored letters and two years of almost complete silence on his side, you might think Marcus would no longer feel any anxiety around his family. After all, and even if his parents might not be fond of it, he was now someone in this world. He had made a name for himself. Even without the "Flint" behind it, people knew who he was. They knew his face, no matter how beautiful or ugly it might be. And what was even better, they didn't care about it anyway. They were completely numb to that fact and that he might not be a genius. People cheered when they spotted him on his broom. He was no longer the little kid who had to take his eyes off his mother while she was yelling at him. Disapproving the fact that "she might have raised a fag because no 'normal man' would hang posters of male Quidditch players on his walls. Ever." Eunice Murray was and always would be the greatest Quidditch player that had ever existed and no one could tell him otherwise. And apparently he was gay. So what? It wasn’t their place to be. Nothing of these things were. 

Goddamnit, Flint. You're not a coward! Go over there and let the old man talk. Don't let him get you down!

So he said "father," in a blank tone, and stepped in front of the man. The first thing Marcus noticed was that his father didn't look particular older. Maybe his hair was a bit thinner and he had more wrinkles around the eyes, but apart from that he still looked the same.

After going to Hogwarts Marcus hadn't seen much of him. Most of his holidays he had given himself the mission to talk Higgs into playing Quidditch with him. That was also the only reason he was able to get him to play as a seeker for the Slytherin team for a short time. 

The chaser and his father had never much in common, therefore nothing to talk about. So no time they spent together. It was just that simple. So it was a bit strange that he was here and not Marcus' mother.

“Marcus, Its good to see you,” he said in his cold voice and gave him a quick once-over. Apart from his hair and eyes, Marcus didn’t even look like him. Marcus had broad shoulders. Which neither of his parents had. His features and voice let him seem to be in constant anger, while his parents couldn't be more uncaring. He wasn't what they had made of him. He was all their mistakes and everything else he decided to be. He wasn't going to let them push him around again. He wasn’t theirs anymore. He was his own person.

“What are you doing here? You weren’t here to see the game, obviously,” he pointed at the work robe his father was still wearing. Now that he saw it, he noticed that he missed their old house-elf. He hadn't seen her often in the last years. As a young boy, when his parents weren't at home, he asked Beany to tell him about all the things she had experienced in her life. Places she had been to and songs she had heard. And he had promised her in exchange that one day he would tell her about his one life. 

His father didn’t miss a beat. “You’ve received or letters? We couldn't tell, you didn't write back.”

Marcus bit his lip to keep himself from saying that exactly that had been his plan. And not his father appearing at his safe place. "Yeah, I've got them." 

Probably all of them. On one day there were even two owls sitting at his window. But he only had read two of them. That one with a cryptic message about potential things that could happen in a few months, and another one with the polite request to contact his parents again. They'd need him by their side sometime soon and he'd make good contacts for life. Yeah ... that was not really his thing. 

Most reporters and players knew by now he was better avoided. Nobody expected him to suddenly come around the corner with new manners or a big welcoming smile on his face. If anyone wanted to make a good impression, he kept Marcus Flint far away from this occasion. In the first years of his life he'd learned that if you played nice, it wouldn't work out for you. So here he was one of the highest-rated Quidditch players of the world. With his attitude, he wasn't ever going to be like Wood who everyone tried to recruit nowadays. But he didn't want to be like him. He got into his preferred team on the first try. So yeah he had no idea what his parents wanted from him and to be honest, he didn't even want to find out. A few steps away from them was a court, that was all he wanted.

The old man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Marcus - please, could you dress properly, so we can talk somewhere in private?"

Did he have a choice? "Sure but not at my place and I'll take my time."

**~•~**

They ended up in the garden of the Flint manor. It was a big old house that Marcus hated with every inch of him. No light got through these windows and a ghost of some ancestor dwelt down in the basement. It was everything but not nice or something to show off. 

"You live with this Higgs boy, right? Does he has any idea what he is doing to his parents with _this_." 

_This,_ was obviously Pucey. Some 'old friend' of Higgs' family had spotted them weeks ago in the Diagon Alley. After that, they received some threat letters. You could say about Muggles what you wanted, but they certainly didn't pretend that such a thing didn't exist. Someone wrote that Higgs just could hand over his wand and live a life like a Muggle if he was acting like one. Once Warrington and Flint offered to show these bastards who they were threatening, Higgs protested, told them everything was alright and he hadn't expected otherwise. If Flint would ever run into Malfoy with his god ol' blabbermouth ever again, he'd show him how Muggles fought. He didn't live above a Muggle pub for nothing. Damn it, he was invited to brunch at his neighbors and their ugly dog on Sunday, even though he didn't behave like the nicest fellow citizen towards them either. 

"What is he doing dad? Did he have one of the best N.E.W.T results Hogwarts has ever seen? Is he working at Gringotts for good money? Did he has someone to fuck around with? Yeah, so maybe he has but who cares, father? Did they force you to watch or join them? Did they harass you? No, cause the last time you've seen him was at my fourteenth birthday where he hit you in the face and left afterwards. When I think about it now... This was actually one of my favorite birthdays," he stopped himself again. "So could we stop talking about my friends like that and just get to the point? So we can finally go different ways again?"

His father's face remained blank, however, his jaw tightened, but Marcus had known beforehand that he'd take it too far. Higgs' and Pucey's thing wasn't his place to be, so it was certainly not his father's. He'd never tell anybody or admit to himself, that this bunch of incompetent Slytherins were his friends, but he wasn't going to let anyone hurt them either. After all this time he was still the captain. And nobody was allowed to mess with his team.

"You're coming over on Sunday to brunch. We have an important guest we'd like you to meet." His father crossed his arms in front of him. 

"I've plans on Sunday."

"I didn't ask. Cancel them. Nothing is as important at this meeting." What he didn't say was 'nothing is as important as this family and you'd be better off in not making me angry."

After they had walked during their whole conversation, Marcus suddenly stopped. "And I didn't ask to meet your friends. Mine, otherwise, are much more important to me than some stupid meeting with one of your grumpy, wrinkly old school friends. I ain't coming. Do you want to tell me something else? I've practic in a few hours time, so I need to hurry."

Marcus had never seen his father get angry before. He was an emotionless, untouchable statue. His mother was the one who rebuked and punished him. But at this moment, when he stood directly in front of him, he could've sworn to see the death in his father's eyes. That's how furiously he was looking at him. Marcus forced himself to stand still. He had never faced his parents in a way like this and he wouldn't back down now that he started.

The old man took a step forward and pointed warningly at his son. "Remember who raised you. You're going to make a mistake if you won't take my offer now. You'll regret it." At these words, he turned around and left his son behind him.

**~•~**

**Today's headline of the Daily Prophet: He who must not be named returns**

**Sunday**

"Don't," Higgs hissed as Marcus tried to grab his wrist. They stood side by side in their neighbors' tiny kitchen, trying to figure out how to slide a tiny triangle on a stick under a cake and put this in combination on a plate. It seemed impossible. Higgs was trying to be inconspicuous and Flint had no idea where he'd put his wand so they'd had to figure it out by trying...somehow. "Damn what is this thing?"

"What is this on your arm?," the chaser asked and went for his wrist again, Higgs answered in smacking the back of his head. 

"I said don't."

"Why not?" 

Higgs rolled his eyes and dropped the piece of cake on a plate. To put it nicely: it didn't look right. "Because we're friendly neighbors and it is not your business."

"What? Did you get Pucey's name tattooed on there or what? Quite intense don't you think?" Marcus grabbed a spoon and shoved cake into his mouth. With all the "dark lord shit" and the ending of the season, he had a right to stuff his mouth full with everything within reach.

"What don't you get about 'nice neighbors'?" He took the fork from him.

"Don't change the subject, Higgs." Something occurred to him as he chewed the piece of cake and he felt sick immediately. "No... Tell me you didn't."

"Yeah, so: I didn't. Look. This piece looks...acceptable." This time, when Marcus went for his wrist, Higgs began to explain. "You know they found out about him... My parents, they hold him against me... They said they'd hurt him or...even worse."

Cold crept up Marcus' chest at his words. Sometimes he wondered how stupid a person as intelligent as Higgs could be. "You know how it is. They hurt him, we'll kill them."

"Don't say stupid things, Marcus."

"Then you need to stop doing them. How do you think you'll you help him with _this_?" Marcus lowered his voice when he realized he was speaking too loudly, then he gestured to Higgs' arm.

The former seeker stopped his task, pressed his hands on top of the table, and glared angrily at his best friend. "What are you, Marcus? Tell me. 'Caus all you've is Quidditch. It's their fault. I know that. This isn't yours. But you can't just be this dumb game. When the season is over you're drowning between depression and aggression. You let nobody near you. I know it's easier to feel nothing and maybe you didn't even know what you're doing, but despite having a rough childhood I still got him. You can't understand this, because for you it's just the game and sometimes a one night stand, but for me, it isn't. He isn't. And I won't let them take him from me. So better I'm one of them before he has to, or worse. You've heard the stories about him - them. We're nothing compared to them. I mean look at us. We can't do anything to stop them."

"So you just...gave up?" Marcus didn't know if he really cared. He didn't like people dying. So yeah...dying meant no Quidditch. But he... "I thought these were your friends." Flint pointed behind them toward the living room.

"Where is Bole, Flint? Have you seen him lately? Hm? No? Me neither and unlike you, I pay attention to that. So, he is my friend and Adrian is something else I'm not quite sure about. They're just there and it'd be awful if something happened to them...but... Marcus..."

Bole? He wouldn't even know when he had last seen Mr. Murray if he wouldn't lay at his feet every morning. But he cared. Most of the time. And he cared, that, because of Higgs' dumb decision, something could happen to their neighbors. They gave them food and that was really nice of them. They didn't need to do that. So where was Bole? "Where do you think he is?"

"Oh no, I know where he is. You remember this redhead he brought over sometimes? He knocked her up. So his parents take care of it and then they told him to come home, so he went."

Maybe he was getting sick or this was an awful dream. "Take care...like...kill them?"

"I don't know. He wouldn't talk about it."

"Why didn't you tell me? I could've-"

"You're a wreck offside the pitch. I didn't want to stress you out with things you can't change. You aren't the captain anymore. You don't need to take care of our asses anymore. Just forget it." Higgs gathered the plates together, but Marcus got ahold of his sleeve. 

Flint just stared blankly at him. He couldn't say that they were friends and he needed to talk to him about such things. They never did. "We could've changed it. Before. I could've helped I'm not completely useless."

"I never said and never thought that and you know that." Higgs pried himself out of Marcus' grip and went towards the living room.

**~•~**

After writing Bole for several weeks in a row, he almost got a taste of how his parents must've felt when he refused to respond to them. Almost. Unlike his parents, Bole meant something to him. He was his friend...kinda. So this whole situation was more than a little distressful. There was no answer or sign of life. Even if he had lost some of his confidence in Higgs, Flint hoped he'd at least tell him the good news, if he'd hear about anything. 

Somewhere in the meantime, Pucey moved in with them. Marcus noticed it after almost two months. He spent as much of his time as he could on the pitch, just in the evening he was visiting pubs, in the hope to find someone who could distract him for a night. So it wasn't too unusual. 

His parents stopped writing to him after the conversation he had with his father. His mood sank somewhere in between Higgs lying to him and a lost game. Not even an actual win could get him out of it again.

When autumn arrived he started to feel watched but blamed it on his moodiness. It was nothing new that all eyes were on him. He was a famous Quidditch player, he should've expected that. Maybe they were hoping to get a good shot of Wood and his next fight.

It didn't take long, it never does. Twenty minutes of round two of the season Wood stood in the door of the locker room again and stared at him. "What do you want, Wood?" 

The keeper crossed his arms over his chest, went for the showers just to see if anyone could hear them, then made his way back to Marcus again. "You take sides?"

Marcus snorted until he saw the serious look on his face. "You aren't serious. Goddamnit Wood..." Flint ran a hand through his hair. What did he care? "I mean...do you?" He wasn't the one wanting this information, so Wood was the one needing to convince _him_. Why did they always meet when his mood was at its lowest? The only normal conversation they'd ever had was one in which Wood was drunk.

"Sure I did," the former Gryffindor watched Flint's movements, then shook his head in confusion.

"What the hell, Wood. Why do you tell that, when you're already sure whose side I'm on?" He felt the annoyance set in again. Everyone seemed to be fully certain of how to predict him. Higgs wouldn't talk to him when it came to important things, cause Marcus would break on this weight. His parents laid him a way because they thought he would embarrass them, and Wood...Wood was... Just Wood, and that was all he needed to be to annoy the shit out of Marcus.

"'Cause you wouldn't use it against me," he said like it was that easy.

"Why wouldn't I? I think that would bring me a lot." Maybe. Maybe not. He had no idea what the death eaters were up to. Even if he lived with one. Goddamnit, he had to stop being such an apathetic git. The only thing he knew was, that they hated anyone who wasn't one of them. Not everyone fits into their "cool" gang. And that apparently was the whole point. Maybe it made no sense and got them nowhere, but it was still the purpose of his parents' life. It always has been. "The deep secrets of the highest-ranked Keeper of the world. Sounds good, don't you think?," he teased.

"You wouldn't 'cause that's just who we're. Rather help your enemies then miss the opportunity for a good game." Wood took a step forward.

"You're a helpless idiot," Flint shook his head but suppressed the first smile in months. "Remember our last year at Hogwarts? I would've definitely missed that opportunity." 

"This was different, your team was utter bullshit. You had practically no good choice. So it was a tactic. Shitty for me and it didn't get you anywhere in the end but you tried. And I can appreciate that." 

Wood was such an... Wait, what? Was he... No way. 

"So will you tell me or do I have to look myself?," Wood gave him a challenging look and cocked his chin.

Flint didn't feel like playing games. Sure, it had always been fun, but after all, that was happening... The fall followed pretty soon after the high of a game, and considering how his mood had been before stepping on the pitch, he could already imagine what it would be like in a few minutes. 

Wood took another step towards him and held out his hand in Flint's direction. Maybe he should go. Or slam Wood in one of the lockers, just for the sake of the good old times. No, no he definitely shouldn't do that. He could still hear McLean's warning words in his ears. He didn't want to sit on the bench for a single game. And definitely not just for a punch in Oliver Wood's hilarious handsome face.

But as he was near enough Marcus' body moved all by itself and the next thing he really noticed was a loud bang as he slammed Wood into his locker. At least he'd only destroyed his own stuff and maybe left a few bruises on Wood's back and arms because his grip on his biceps was so strong that something in Flint was scared what would happen if he'd let go of him again. 

He pried his left hand with force from Wood's arm and showed him his tattooless skin. "You're happy now?," from behind a few strands of dark hair that had fallen into his face he glared angrily at Wood. "Or rather disappointed 'cause I didn't meet your expectations?" Marcus clenched his now empty fist at the locker door to the side of Wood's head. 

"Maybe if you weren't so goddamn pathetic you'd finally understand that you should stay out of my life. Maybe if you weren't such an awful cliche of a Gryffindor, and wouldn't try to please everyone, you would have an actual life, and didn't need to spend your whole day, wondering how you could find a way into mine. Maybe if you weren't the keeper of such a miserable team you weren't so fucking frustrated either." 

That last lie hit and so was Wood's fist which found its way into Flint's jaw within a few seconds. That's how it usually went. One of them made some stupid comments, and in the next moment, they looked like they were trying to skin each other alive. He'd have never guessed that this broken relationship would end up being the most enduring thing in his whole life.

Flint shoved Wood off him, but the shorter one dragged him with him as he was going to the ground. Another blow and Marcus had to spit blood to the side. Wood tried to change their position but Flint managed to keep him at the ground until a kick landed at his gut and he got distracted by shifting his balance for a second, so the keeper used this moment to switch their positions. 

At this, the former Slytherin let out an annoyed groan, put his head back, and stared at Wood. "We're even?," Marcus mumbled as he felt the inside of his cracked lip with his tongue. "Wood? You're spacing out?," he groaned again, as he shifted under the keeper while the idiot was staring unblinkingly at him. As he had managed it halfway back to a sitting position, to knock his head against Wood's or to just shove him off him, a hand wrapped around the back of his neck and suddenly he felt a pair of soft lips brushing against his own.

Flint had kissed many men in his life. Strangers in dark streets at night just to forget what he felt. But never had he been kissing like someone was starving and trying to rip him apart at the same time. It wasn't the kiss itself but rather Wood's forceful hand at the back of his neck. Before he managed to make an end to his thoughts, and with that, maybe return the kiss or come to terms with the fact that it was Wood, of all people, who was just kissing him, the other man let go of him and turned his face away.

Bad dreams made him startle awake and after several years he still had to make sure if it wasn't real after all. He never thought "this is a dream" and just change the things like he wanted to. So that were two reasons why he couldn't be dreaming, right? It never occurred to him whether it would a good or a bad one.  
Without thinking, Marcus reached forward and pulled Wood into another kiss. Rough lips meet soft ones. A calm breath made up for an unsteady one. Marcus could hear his blood rushing threw his veins. 

They weren't nice but neither of them cared. This made them who they were and nothing would ever change that. And Marcus would never admit that he was thankful for it. 

Wood's hand found his way into Marcus' hair. It was longer now than it has been at school. But everything seemed different now that they had been in ‘the real world’ for several years. The Keeper let out a low growl as he got bitten in the lower lip, then he slipped his hands under Marcus' shirt and suddenly he was pulled closer by two big hands.

Flint had no idea how life had brought them to this point. If there had been tension between them all this time or whether it was just a reaction triggered by the panic that was caused by the upcoming war or a strange need of a short release. What he knew was that it felt like they were both on fire and neither of them was ready to give up. Not now. Not today. Maybe never. Because that was just who they are. Between biting and rough touches, they both peeled off their shirts and Wood's hands went over Flint's broad shoulders. 

Usually, this was the moment Marcus would start to rethink everything he'd done or was about to do, but finally, Wood's hands ran down his body and Marcus reached the point where he no longer cared, he no longer had to think. There was just want, want, want. And two people who were broad to give. At least for this moment. And somewhere in between, he heard the voice he'd never get out of his head whispering his name.

**~•~**

There was no regret afterward, not really. Flint wasn't someone who'd ask anyone to stay the night. Besides, they were in a locker room... What was to equal parts strange, a real turn on and oh so predictable. Wood seemed a bit confused and jittery afterwards, so they just went different ways and didn't see each other again for weeks. Or maybe even months. 

The owls started to appear again and one day after an interview, the feeling of him being watched returned. Pucey was a pale misery that spent most of it's time with Mr. Murray on the sofa and never seemed to leave the apartment. Flint was no one to pry. Even if he had noticed that Higgs almost never came home. He had too many things going on his own. There were also low voices claiming that the World Cup should be canceled next year. All in all, everything was complete bullshit. But how Maddocks had said to him several years ago "what can you do?"

Some part of him had expected it, but in general, he was just too busy thinking about himself and his own problems to really care. Maybe he should've. Maybe he should've tried talking to Higgs more often but after his best friend had told him several times to just "leave it" he had. If he would really need help he'd talk to him, right?

"Marcus," the voice of his father sounded from somewhere behind him. The chaser turned around in confusion. He had been sitting at the stands for several minutes now. Even the sun had left him alone with the moon, and his old man, back in the dark. Shouldn't he have heard him?

"I said 'no'. I don't care about your bullshit. It's your thing, not mine. I've no problems with muggles. If we're honest I'm half a squib so ... I couldn't care less." He got up and went for the stairs.

"I've put up with your bullshit long enough. Listen to me. You'll pack your stuff and come home," the old man took a step in his direction and pointed a warning finger at Marcus. Somehow he looked even taller in the dark. The missing light took all the humanity out of his features.

"Goddamnit, I'm an adult, father. I'm twenty-one," Marcus looked at him as if he had lost his mind. He knew that the darkness would keep everything of this look hidden, but he had to do it anyway.

"You're only an adult if you act like one, and you've proven that you're incapable of it. Do you have any idea what big of a problem your behavior is for me and your mother? The dark lord doesn't tolerate a pureblood family that has no control over their son."

Did it make him selfish that his father's words left him untouched? The absence of his parents in his childhood had made sure that he had neither shared their opinions nor developed his own. And now a freak without a nose was able to tell him what to do? Hell no. 

When he didn't say anything and just stared blankly at him, his father took another step in his direction. "Marcus."

"No. No - This is still my life and I'll lose everything when I choose to come with you. Not to mention the fact that I can't tolerate what you're doing. I'm not a saint but I'm definitely no killer either. You know what they'd do to me if I'd come with you."

"If you don't, I'll let your world burn," his father said dead serious.

"Yeah sure, whatever. Just go and leave me alone." Marcus turned his back on his father and ran down the stairs. 

The wind had other plans and carried the voice of the old man over to him. "I promise you, son, this is not an ending, it is a beginning. Just bear in mind that it didn't need to come this far."

The chaser made it halfway to the exit as a hot orange-red light spread over the doors, grandstands, and his back. He spun around. His father was gone but at his stead, a restless fire spread across the stands, it got bigger every second and devoured everything within its reach.

Maybe his was a dream... But it couldn't. Cause in dreams he never knew he was sleeping. So this must be real. But it couldn't. Because what kind of an awful person would do something like that? 

For a brief moment, Marcus realized that he had had something to lose all along. Just a dream. A stupid dream that should've never become reality. It had been a shot he should've missed.

**~•~**

His hands were trembling when he searched for help, his feet were tripping as he was running down the halls. He didn't even know why anyone would let his father into the stadium. Sure, they were related, but he had never indicated that they were close. They just were and ignored each other for the most part of their life, nothing else. It didn't take him long to find some sort of security guard. But still, the damage was done and most of the left side of the stadium was burned to ashes. 

The only thing Flint could do was staring, while the flames were getting extinguished. It wasn't often that he had his wand with him. Today he wasn't even quite sure where he had left it. So he was just sitting there, staring. Until the sun rose again. And everything was orange again. He hated this color. It wasn't for nothing that the Chudley Cannons were almost at the bottom of the table. Eventually, McLean told him to go home and take a shower. So he went.

At home, he kept staring, this time at his ceiling above his hed. And eventually, he made a decision. 

They took his friends, they burned his home, and still, they expected him to join their side. Sure, why not?

He found an address in one of the endless letters his parents had send him. Because he had no clue where this place was, he found a map in Higgs' abandoned room. He found unaware, little Pucey sleeping on the sofa in the living room. And somewhere in between, he found his wand under a pile of clothes. They lived near the stadium so he didn't have to use it to apparate anymore. But today he had to.

A few moments later, there was a loud bang and he found himself in a strange, dark place. He was surprised that he was still able to apparate but still more furious about his father's disgraceful deed than anything else.

Halfway down the street to an unknown house, he stuffed the map into a trashcan. He needed his hands because he wasn't sure what to expect. 

It was a mansion similar to that of his parents. The same ugly and dark shade, the same high windows and stony roads. Nothing compared to Higgs' brightly lit apartment above the big city. Marcus hoped that someday his parents would finally disinherit him. A lot of money was all nice but it meant nothing went it came to the price of an ugly, old house.

Marcus knocked on its massive door with geat self-confidence. Maybe he could just find out what happened to Bole and leave. Maybe he could take Bole with him and leave. Maybe he could punch his father, take Bole and Higgs and leave.

The door opened and a dark-haired chaser came into few. Yeah...this was definitely not going to end well. "Warrington," Marcus greeted the other boy.

"What brings you up here, Flint? Isn't the season still going?," Warrington asked while emptying a drink he was holding in his hand.

"'Could ask you the same. Haven't heard a rumor about the Falcons being out already. Did they kick you?"

Warrington's jaw hardened. "What are you doing here, Flint?," he asked again in a cold voice.

Since Marcus didn't feel like starting a fight, he simply answered, "My father invited me. I'd like to see him."

"He isn't here. However, your mother is. If you'd want to see her," Warrington replied spitefully and pointed past him into the hallway of the horror house.

"Sure, why not, sounds lovely!," a voice sounded from behind Marcus.

"And what the hell are you doing here, Pucey?"

"Yeah...what the hell," Marcus send the younger boy a warning look.

"Everybody was having fun, I thought I should join the party. Go on, we're right behind you," Pucey waved Warrington to go on, then took a step into the house. 

Marcus stepped in right behind him and closed the door. "I'll ask again and this time I want an answer: What are you doing here?," he hissed in Pucey's ear when he finally got close enough. "Are you suicidal?"

Pucey opened his mouth to reply but a tall, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind a door and stared at him. "What are you two doing here?"

Oddly enough, it was Warrington who came in front of them and spoke, "They came to join the front."

They...what now? Although he had an urgent need to stare angrily at the back of his head, Marcus held his mother's gaze.

**~•~**

“I hate this woman,” Flint heard, Pucey repeating the words his boyfriend said many years ago, as he tried to sit up with a pounding head. He found himself in a dark, unknown room. A similar shade had the past several hours of his life. He couldn't quite recall them. He knew he didn't need to ask, so he just stared at Pucey in pure confusion.

"Do you remember how you got here? To this house, I mean?," the brunette asked and Marcus shook his head. He regretted it almost immediately and closed his eyes for a brief moment to let the hurt fade away. 

"So I was lying there on the couch with Mr. Murray and you were gone, Terence was gone as well and Lucian had also disappeared. Terence told me not to worry about things but I was really starting to get upset. So I followed your steps back and now we have these." He held up his arm to show Marcus the dark mark on his skin. "Do you remember. No, you don't," he answered his own question as he saw the look on Marcus' face. 

Then it hit him.

They had had a strange dinner with some people he had never seen before. Afterwards, they went down and someone gave them this ugly thing. The dumbest idea ever. What did he expect if it came from a Falcon player? But Warrington had told him what they'd do to someone like Pucey and Higgs and even him if they'd ever find out. Maybe if Marcus would help them they could get unscathed out of here. Moreover, Warrington didn't even know how he ended up being here. He knew that he was drinking too much and that they couldn't find Bole in the beginning. After that, he looked in the distance until he finally stared up at Marcus and plead, "You're the captain, right? You've got this. You always got or backs. You can get us out of here!"

Seriously? He had never felt so fucking dumb in his whole life.

'Cause he had nothing to gain and nothing to lose he stayed with his parents. Or rather with Pucey and Warrington. Somewhere in between Higgs joined them but he didn't talk to Flint. Maybe he gave him the fault for Pucey's being here. Maybe he was right with that.

They had another meeting this time with the dark lord. They mostly talked about Potter. But Flint didn't remember enough to give back a single word he had heard. He hasn't listened. He felt like he never was.

But he remembered Higgs and Pucey arguing. And someone taking Pucey from them. Marcus went after him, but since he had never been good at spells, he got disarmed immediately. Warrington held him back and asked if he wanted to end up like Bole. 

In the present Flint dug his fingernails into the skin on his arm, which caused a sharp pain going through it.

"Marcus," Pucey pried his hand from his arm. As the chaser stared in disbelieve at his own skin the younger one kept talking. "Lestrange used a spell to get you off of him after you found out what they had done to Bole. He broke your arm, someone else tried to heal it and then..."

Flint knew why he couldn't speak about it. He didn't even want him to. After they took Pucey they tortured him in front of Higgs. Marcus wasn't sure what they were trying to achieve. Splitting them up? Make Higgs go with them to Hogwarts?

"What have I done to my arm?," Marcus asked vaguely as he stared at some dark bloody lines that peeked out from under a bandage. At some point, his thoughts got just a colorless blur of shadows and voices.

"They were gathering somewhere. Higgs and Warrington went with them. And you have ... uhm ... I'm not quite sure." He shook his head and wrinkled his nose. "Your mother knocked you out with 'crucio', again before you could rip it off," he pointed at his own mark. "I bandaged your arm. Sorry, I really ain't good at it."

Marcus stared into the distance for a while before speaking again, "Why did they kill him?," even in his own ears his voice sounded emotionless.

"After she had taken everything from him, he had no more reason to cooperate. So he was useless and possibly a loose ending." He paused. "I know you're not doing well right now. But can you do me a favor?," as Flint looked at him, Pucey stared pleadingly at him.

"Try your luck." He felt like he had fallen from a broom just without the fun and when he had hit the ground all emotions were taken form him.

"There is a battle at Hogwarts. I need to get Higgs. And then we'll be running. I don't know where we'll go but we need to leave. Could you help me find him?"

"It's worth a shot, right? But first, they'll burn."

**~•~**

It took him five tries to start an actual fire and eight more to make the fire spread. By the time he was sitting in the distance, and watching the show, Pucey came back with a new robe for him, and was able to find out how they were going to get into Hogwarts. According to rumors they had destroyed the wall of protection. Flint wasn't someone who trusted rumors. So after he had changed his clothes, got a low "Sorry, I only found your away uniform" from Pucey and sent an annoyed look in his direction because he didn't want him to excuse all his self-proclaimed antics all the goddamn time he called for his parents house-elf in the hope he'd get an answer from her.

"We could just try, you know," Pucey started, "I know it could go really wrong but there is a possibility -," but was interrupted by a loud bang and a small creature appearing in front of them.

"Oh, Master Flint! Master Flint, Beany is so happy to see him!," with a wide grin on her face the house-elf took a step towards him, Marcus raised his eyebrow. "Marcus, of course," he corrected herself. A long time ago, the two of them had made the agreement that she'd never call him the same way she called his father, but she was a bit oblivious. 

She gave his hand a curious look and patted it gently. "How can Beany help?" He just stared at her. His head was still pounding he didn't know if he would make it through the trip.

"We need a quick lift to Hogwarts," Pucey said, coming up from behind her and giving her an interested look. He was so fucking odd. Sometimes he acted as if he had never seen such creatures in his life. 

Beany stared at him, then back at Marcus. "What he says," Marcus assured her. "Just not directly inside the castle. Somewhere outside. Is there a safe place somewhere?," he gave Pucey a questioning look.

"Not today I guess. Just...we need to go." 

Flint nodded, Beany took their hands, and immediately the dizzying nausea of the apparition made herself a home in his body.

**~•~**

"Oh my god. It's just ... it's ... Who would do something like that?," Pucey started cursing while Flint tried to keep the contents of his stomach inside of him. "Everything is just-"

"Beany, go home, it's not safe here," he ordered the house-elf and then came up behind Pucey to inspect the ruin that, on better days, was called Hogwarts. The sun was rising gradually and everything got painted in awful orange. Many towers and walls had collapsed but everything was terribly calm. 

For a moment they could just stand there and stare, then a bang broke the silence, so Beany was gone and they made their way up to the castle.

"Okay, we'll find and take him and then we'll just get the hell out of here," Pucey explained his non-existing plan while they stepped over a fallen tree. "I don't want anyone of us to get hurt."

It doesn't look to Marcus like there was still a fight going on but he kept his mouth shut. And since he was in better shape, he soon went past Pucey and ran up the stairs to the castle. Even though he had to stop several times to find a way up the ruined stairs, Pucey didn't call after him.

At the end of the stairs, rubble trickled from the roof, but Marcus kept walking until a young woman stopped him. "Who are you? Why are you here?," she asked in a cold voice. A wound cut across half of her face and Flint was sure he knew her from somewhere, but he couldn't remember her name.

"I need to get into the castle to find ... a friend." Or his corpse, whatever was left of him. 

"And who are you?," she slowly repeated herself as if he was really fucking dumb.

This question was a problem because he was a Flint, a Slytherin and nobody would ever trust someone like him. He held up his arms in self-defense then, after she didn't say anything and just stared at him, he handed her his wand. "My name is Marcus Flint."

"Ah, of course. I thought that for a short moment then. But I didn't... I couldn't quite make it out with this whole hair situation you've going on," she pointed at his head. His hair had fallen from both sides into his face and was brushing his cheekbones.

"Yeah okay, I didn't wash my hair, hilarious. Can I get in now?"

He heard a gasp behind him. "I need to go in there, as well. Is it - is it over?" Pucey had finally made it up the stairs and tried to hold himself upright by putting his hands on his knees.

"Sure, Macmillan will scan you beforehand," with these words she turned to Pucey, and a blond guy stepped in his way, Marcus waved him to go on and rolled his eyes. 

The blonde guy stared at him with big eyes then carefully patted his pockets. Maybe this was how his life would be from now on. Maybe because of this one stupid decision, which he couldn't even really explain nor remember, no one would ever trust him again. If there had ever been someone who had trusted him. 

"The deceased are in the great hall. Everyone is entitled to claim their relatives. Since you are here," he pointed to Marcus bandage. "Is it your duty to submit to an interrogation afterwards," his explanation sounded rehearsed but finally he stepped back.

Flint turned towards Pucey. "She'll lead me to the survivors first," he explained and watched Marcus pat his own robe in disgust. "I hope he'll be there. I know I couldn't... Can you go into the great hall? I'll be after you in a minute."

**~•~**

Marcus had forgotten how big the great hall actually was. Bright orange light fell through the windows onto the floor and on the unmoving bodies, which were draped on either side of the room. 

Some people had gathered at the end of the hall. He could make out McGonagall and Pomfrey tending someone's wounds. Flitwick, who kept his eyes on the mourners in the hall and gave him an amazed look as he spotted him but didn't move. He could see more, some redheads, then probably teachers, and people who had been on Quidditch teams at Hogwarts in his days but his eyes lingered only on one person for a moment longer. He seemed to take a pause and comfort a chaser of the Holyhead Harpies. He had some smaller, visible injuries, but other than that, Wood seemed fine.

Flint didn't stay to confirm his theory, instead, he turned his eyes to the side of the hall which was reserved for the deceased Death Eaters. There were many of them. Most of them Marcus had never seen before. Apart from Mrs. Higgs and a younger boy who he knew was the brother of someone he hadn't talk to in a while. Most of them were wearing masks anyway, so he didn't bother to find out who they were. 

A man had a splintered mask on his face and Marcus had the feeling to recognize his stature. He didn't know whether it was allowed or would disturb his eternal peace, but he ran over to him and lifted the mask. That made two beaters. To the tip of his shoes was laying Derrick. A strange feeling grew inside his stomach, but he couldn't quite make out what it meant. Instead, he felt eyes on him from the end of the room, so he put the mask back on.

He continued to look around, heard footsteps, and soft whispers. Despite the words, they were certainly not welcome here, but he didn't care. Two bodies next to his old keeper there it was. The face he was searching for. He took three steps and landed next to him on the ground. The feeling was back but this time strong and cold and made his way up to his throat and eyes. It filled his chest and opened his mouth but nothing came out. So he closed it again and stared.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. No." Pucey rushed to his side and took Higgs' hand. Immediately the eyes of the taller boy opened and Flint and Pucey recoiled. _Maybe they were getting mad_, Marcus thought. But they were looking at him and he was looking back. Pucey recovered first and stretched his hand out again. "You scared the shit out of me, man."

Flint raised his eyebrows. "Care to share?"

"Help me up?," Flint didn't move but he didn't have to because Pucey was there in a heartbeat and helped Higgs into a sitting position.

The former seeker let out a relieved sigh and just stared at the youngest of them for a while when he started talking his gaze went into the distance and disgust spread across his face. "There were dead bodies everywhere and blood and... I don't know. I tried to talk Derrick into leaving with me but he wouldn't go. So I searched for Warrington. I mean, he didn't want this either. I couldn't find him. At some point, a spell hit me and knocked me off my feet. So a made a coward move and just kept laying there until someone carried me up here and I was waiting and hiding... I don't want to go to Azkaban, man and I'm sorry for dragging you into this shit. It's my fault."

Pucey pulled Higgs into a hug.

"We're all old enough to make or own mistakes and we're old enough to say no. If we weren't just a bunch of cliches of dumb Slytherin's," Flint told him while searching the bodies for known faces.

"Do you think they'll arrest us or will they hear our stories?," he heard Higgs asking form behind him as he got up to approached a body.

"Maybe they'll give you Veritaserum. But I don't think they'll just lock you up without listening to the things you have to say. They're not your parents," Pucey answered. "I'd really appreciate it if we could get up and away from here."

A few feet away from the two of them, Flint finally found what he had searched for. Again, he didn't know what to feel. A certain numbness seemed to shield his heart from the rest of the world. 

Her mask was gone and there was a cut on her cheek, but apart from that, his mother looked unharmed, just as if she was sleeping. He bent down, straightened her hair, and took the family heirloom from her neck, then he got up and mumbled Beany's name again.

The bang of the arriving house-elf drowned out the slight frightening sound of someone in the distance. Flint continued to ignore his audience which he had for sure but felt Pucey and Higgs standing at his side.

He leaned down again and held the chain out to the elf. "Does that count as clothing? If not, I can give you my robe, but it certainly wouldn't fit either." Loud footsteps sounded and as he looked up he could see Warrington in the entrance to the hall.

"Mr. Flint wants to get rid of Beany?" His attention snapped back to the elf in a second and he saw confusion lit up her eyes. Beany's family had been part of the Flint family for generations now. But Marcus hated to call living beings his own as much as he had hated the fact that his parents had tried to put him into the ministry.

"No - I'm not getting rit of you, you can come and see me whenever you want, but I want you to have a life of your own, just like me."

She took the chain from him and studied it. "Beany has no home, Mr. Flint." She looked up at him again.

"You can live with us." He and Higgs were never at home anyway so Pucey had at least someone to talk to. "Now pack your things and get out of there you know where to find me." 

Beany pressed the chain to her chest and smiled up at him, then she disappeared again.

**~•~**

After the interrogation, Marcus leaned against a wall in the courtyard and studied the remains of the Quidditch pitch. It was a horrible sight. Just a remaining ruin. No stands. No changing rooms. No brooms. Just a charred wooden frame. In just three days Marcus had seen the ruins of two iconic courts. It was awful. And kinda strange because it was the only thing that really stings. The only thing that managed to get through to him. Maybe everything would finally hit him, when he was alone.

After long hours of talking his head was pounding again and as if it wasn't enough his skin had started itching like it was several numbers to small.

Warrington had taken all the blame, of whatever the Death Eaters had done in their presence, on himself. Accordingly, Marcus had only received a warning speech and a disapproving look. They told him they'd keep an eye on him but somehow that was all that had happened. Maybe the aftermath was still waiting for him. 

Higgs however was in bigger trouble and Pucey had refused to leave his side. It was a very strange concept for Flint. Hadn't they all screwed up for the same amount? Apparently not. He hoped it wasn't because he was a famous Quidditch player and Higgs just a faceless former Slytherin. Maybe it was more due to the fact that he was half a squib and Higgs part-time genius. He should've thought this through, but Marcus had just run into his own doom. He didn't knew better.

"Let me see your arm so I can take my eyes of this tragedy," sounded a familiar voice next to him and as Flint turned his head a tired-looking Wood came into view. He was pale and something in his eyes seemed different. He had taken off his robe, but his shirt was covered in blood.

"Still trying to get a glimpse of the dark mark, don't you? Is this a turn on point for you or the opposite?"

The keeper just rolled his eyes and held his flat hand out in demand. "You're injured. It's the arm you use to throw the quaffle and I don't think that a fool like you can tend it himself. I don't want to miss out on interesting games just because of your incompetence. Come on. I won't cut it off."

"I can't trust you with that. You're not a healer nor a nurse. Maybe you'll poison me by mistake," Marcus pointed out but let Wood take his arm anyway.

"I'm not you. Also, I watched Poppy work all day and over the last few years, I had several injuries my own. Quidditch is the best but it's still rough." And so he started working. 

For a while, they just stood there in silence. Wood, who conjured up a first-aid kit from somewhere, and Flint, who continued to stare at the charred structure in the distance. And in some strange way, they took comfort in the familiar presence of the other one. "Can you talk? It doesn't have to be about Quidditch I just ... don't like to think right now."

Not Quidditch and according to his words the war wasn't a possibility either. He could manage that. At least the war thing... Quidditch he wasn't quite sure. Because they were still them and had never talked about anything other than Quidditch. Of course, he hadn't ruled it out either, but now that Marcus had got an opportunity to talk about whatever he wanted, he could just ... When his brain wasn't fast enough, his mouth took over and he blurted out, "Isn't your girlfriend interested in you doctoring your sex fling?"

"My girlfriend?," sounded more like "Your sex fling?" Wood pulled his arm closer to inspect the cuts. Flint looked away, he didn't want to see the mess he had made out of his arm.

"Uhu."

Wood's confusion showed as he tried to look him in the eyes. "You mean Angelina? God no. She is - Her somehow boyfriend died tonight. She is... Or did you talk about Katie? I'm gay, man. Believe me, I tried. Not with her, but ... uhm ... Yep. Even if I wasn't she is just too soft and Quidditch is not even worth as much to her as Herbology. And that is awful. The only thing she has to do with Quidditch, nowadays, is the Daily Prophet. Oh my god, maybe it is because of the war ... I'm fucking tactless."

"I don't talk to her. She'll never know. But this is the only favor I'll ever give you for free." For a moment it was nice not to think about everything that had happened in the past few months. For a moment they were back in their strange world with their strange relationship that had somehow gone off the rails but was still way more normal than everything else in the world.

"What would I need to pay with?," Wood asked completely oblivious about the meaning behind Flint's words. 

There had just been a war. Er wusste nicht, ob sein Kopf noch richtig funktionierte. And they were them. And he was nobody who - But everything except from this felt numb.

"Maybe I'll let you know someday soon."


	3. Remaining Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have fun! :D

**A week later**

"Do you think he's okay? Just...'cause we wanted to talk to him about it today."

"There's too much going in his life, he just found out that his father is in Azkaban. Maybe we'll give him another day or even a week."

As he laid there on his back, staring at the ceiling of his room and listening to the voices of his friends Flint wondered when these two had started to treat him like a frightened animal.

He was still the captain. Wasn't he? Maybe not from a real team, but still a handful of people acted like nothing had changed.

After the ministry had decided a week ago to take Higgs' wand away for an indefinite time period and put Warrington into Azkaban, the remaining two had searched for him. So he had swallowed a hysterical laugh, left Wood behind, and got back to reality. It was that simple. He wasn't fucking fragile.

Still, now, after a week had passed, the reality looked even worse than before. At this very moment, the Magpies decided whether he could continue playing for them or whether he had to leave the team for good. In addition to his attitude problem, was now the dark mark on his arm and neither knew if he was worth the effort. He didn't think he would be lucky this time. Once? Okay, why not? Twice? Not him. Never. It was done.

He tried to remain the strong man the world got to see every day. He tried to hold the remaining pieces of himself together. Sure he was strong but sometimes he didn't find a reason to try. Higgs and Pucey had given up on him anyway. So why shouldn't he lie in the bed for a whole week and mourn a dream? A normal human being would probably mourn the death but the only one there really was to mourn was Bole. And Marcus had mourned him. For weeks, in letters. Now his self-centered "I" could take care of itself again.

"Has he even showered this week?"

"I can hear you, idiots," he growled and laid his head back to give them an angry look. "And I'm not sick or weak. It's just the usual grumpy me you can see right in front of you. So talk. Or I'll become less grumpy and much more angrier."

Pucey sighed, then stepped into the room and laid down next to Flint. 

"What? No. I said talk. Not- Goddamnit. Not you as well." Marcus rolled his eyes and started staring at the ceiling again. There was no point in talking them both out of it. One alone. Sure, the easiest thing in the world. But both together were like an impenetrable wall. He was outnumbered. Damn Bole.

"You know we're both adults now." Marcus narrowed his eyes. Really? Who'd guessed? "And Terence and I are in a relationship." Yeah, he knew that as well. "And two adults in a relationship-"

"Goddamnit, Pucey. Get your head out of your as and get to the fucking point," the chaser snarled at the younger one and gave him an angry look.

"We're moving." Higgs blurred out and then there was silence.

Flint had known this day would come from the beginning. He wasn't a stranger to loneliness and it wasn't earth-shattering 'cause most of the time he wasn't at the flat anyway. But it stung. Kinda... Higgs had been his friend as long as he could remember. So, he had managed to stand Pucey. And now they'd leave him alone.

Bole and Warrington were gone and now they'd follow.

"Okay. Then why hesitating? I'm finally free. Nobody will complain about me not cleaning up ever again," he lied and avoided looking them in the eyes. This was him. Avoiding his problems. Again. Like every day. 

"You're sure? You know you can visit us whenever-"

"Of course I am. I've never been more certain in my whole damn life about anything. I'll never have to have such strange conversations with you ever again." Probably. He wasn't sure about that.

"Okay ..." Higgs said unsure but slowly got up anyway. "Then...we'll leave you to it again."

Flint didn't know what would happen to him without them. Without Quidditch. Whether anything would happen at all or if he'd just lay here forever. Without Higgs, he'd be somewhere in the Ministry by now. Without Higgs, none of his achievements would’ve been possible. Maybe he could train a team somewhere...someday. But everybody did know him and the tattoo on his arm...nobody would give him a job again...ever

"Flint?! There is an owl for you."

**~•~**

**two weeks later**

The event took place in a large, impressive hall. It was the property of a member of the Quidditch board, and despite the circumstances, there were still many players present. Flint hadn't even gotten a chance to play against every one of them. There were people from all over the world. The missing ones hadn't made it or had given up Quidditch entirely, because of the war, but all in all, there were still too many people for Flint liking.

After the announcement that the World Cup would take place after all, because the people needed some kinda joy these days, the people dispersed. 

Maddock pulled the chaser with a big grin on his face aside. Two weeks ago Flint had received the letter with the announcement that he was still part of the team. The first thing McLean did, when he saw Marcus coming through the door this evening, was to make sure that he knew he had to stay away from 'that creepy' keeper. McLean didn’t like Wood. He was certain that his play-style was the result of black magic. ‘Nobody can hold that many shots.’ But the former Gryffindor did it anyway. Only a few months ago he had received an award for it.

When Flint turned his head, he saw the keeper talking to the seeker of the Tornados. His usual smile never reached his eyes and sometimes disappeared entirely from his face. Maybe he felt as drained as the chaser did. Marcus pressed his lips into a thin line. 

Then someone nudged his elbow and before he could do anything about it, he found himself in a conversation with his team for the next few hours.

It wasn't before the sun got down, the meal was finished and drinks were poured, that Flint got outside to take a smoke and found Wood at his side. It was odd. Again. Their strange something.

"What's up?" Yeah ... that didn't necessarily make it any better. Flint took a lighter out of his pocket and lit the cigarette. Wood watched him curiously and after a few seconds, he just shook his head. 

"Nothing just... It's."

Flint raised an eyebrow at him. Wood had never had problems finding the right words. Ever. He talked every goddamn minute of the day. Mostly about Quidditch, but still. Marcus hated that they had probably destroyed their weird and easy 'whatever'. Or maybe it was just the fault of the past few months that got him so distracted. After all, he had no idea what had happened to the keeper in this time, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know either. Flint crushed out his cigarette, went around Wood, and waved him on.

"What?"

"Down there is a fucking gorgeous pitch and I'm sure somewhere around we'll find some brooms. I can't handle you, being all sad and whatnot." He couldn't even handle himself. "So we're having a match."

**~•~**

“Is this us having a match or you taking pity on me?,” the keeper shouted from across the field and made a challenging gesture. “Is your arm okay, Flint? Your brain still working?” 

He had completely forgotten that Wood knew about 'it'. A quick look down his arm showed that wounds and mark were slowly fading. Still, he was planning to get a tattoo to cover it up. This mark would never fade completely and he had no desire to visibly carry this shame forever.

Flint looked up again and turned the Quaffle challenging on a finger. “If you weren't so distracted, you might notice that I've already scored at least three goals at you, and I'd say it's a new record. Three goals in under five minutes,” Marcus pointed out, flew towards the three rings, and dared a new shot.

This time Wood caught the Quaffle even before it got near the rings and smirked. "I'm distracted? Please, I'm brilliant at my job. What should be distracting me?"

Flint had no intention of having in-depth conversations with anyone. Especially not Wood. He had enough thoughts that led him through deep places on his own. He didn't need an Oliver Wood and his Quidditch metaphors to make things even worse. And he didn't feel like kicking their strange relationship off a cliff for good. "Probably my ass," Marcus smirked and raised his eyebrow. Yeah...that definitely didn't make it any better. "I ain't gonna blame you. It's a nice ass."

"No...no... I would definitely remember if I was looking at your ass. I mean, there isn't even a reason to stare.” 

"Are you sure about that?" Maybe it wasn't such a good tactic after all. “You didn't complain then.”

Even in the dark of the night, Flint could see Wood blushing. The red creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. How was it possible that he, of all people, was able to make Oliver Wood blush? Maybe he was misinterpreting. But it didn’t seem like that.

The keeper looked across the field. Marcus was certain he was making sure no one was able to eavesdrop on them. Homosexuality wasn't a frowned upon topic in the general wizarding world, but it was still something unspoken between Quidditch players and their fans. And both of them were too obsessed with this game to let anything get in the way.

Wood pressed the Quaffle to his chest and flew a little closer to the chaser. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Do I know you?," Flint could see a slight grin spreading across his face.

“I'm very sure you were the one pleading this night. Let's face it, I'm not the type for that anyway. But it was also you who yelled my name. Does that ring a bell?,” Flint put his hand firmly on Wood's broom and led him a little closer to him.

"Maybe I got a few too many Bludgers to the head.” Flint could see a nervous twitch on his face.

“Do I have to refresh your memories?,” Flint asked, trying to keep looking annoyed and sounding bored.

“Um ... it wouldn't hurt.”

“Oh...you'll never know.” Because they were still the same people. Maybe a little older, but still not a bit wiser. 

Probably they should’ve gone somewhere else or shouldn't have risked it in the first place. But they were like a bludger looking for its next victim. Unstoppable. So neither of them gave in when their lips crashed together. Or when they almost threw each other off their brooms when they tried to tear off each other's clothes. When Wood's lip bled after Flint bit him and the keeper gave him a punch for it. When they finally hit the ground and Marcus had to smother a low laugh on Wood's skin as the keeper blushed because Marcus went down to his knees. Neither gave in as they fought for the lead. And none of them were surprised when there was no real leader. Just them and an everlasting hunger.

**~•~**

**two months later**

"What is this between you and Wood?" Was the first thing Pucey asked when Flint let him into his new apartment. It wasn't the first time he had visited him. Every time Higgs wasn't home and little Pucey knew Flint was not at a game nor a training he came over. At first, it was a bit strange then the chaser found out how easy it was to ignore Pucey while he was busy with Mr. Murray. So he didn't mind. He knew he needed people in his life but still, he found them exhausting.

The only visits that really stuck in his mind were his third and fourth one. On the third, he persuaded Marcus to either get a second cat, since he was never at home and Mr. Murray had no one to play with, or to move Mr. Murray to a nicer home. On the fourth, he brought a cat. Its name was Cat. That was all, nothing more was needed to know. Pucey didn't seem particularly happy with that decision but Flint had pointed out that if he was the one with three roommates, the younger one didn't have any say in it.

It were more two than three roommates. Beany preferred to sleep at her cousin's 'cause the cats scared her. And Marcus vehemently refused to give up the cats.

"Wood?," Flint played dumb, pulling the door shut behind the former Slytherin and went back into the living room. What could they know? How did they find out?

"I saw him leave your apartment the other day," Pucey avoided looking into his eyes and ran over to Mr. Murray, who was lying motionless on a cupboard. "Are you two cheating? Do you share secret game information with the enemy? Oh god ... do you guys have any sick, painful games going on?"

He wasn't this far off with his last guess. They weren't particularly nice to each other. However, they never would ... No. No unnecessary punches had flown between them. If they disagreed or were fighting for the lead, sure. But apart from that, never. "Neither."

"What then? Are you...do you," Flint only realized he had said the wrong thing when Pucey turned around and looked at him with wide eyes.

"I've never made your relationship my business. So, do me the favor and return it. And don't talk about it. Ever." Cat jumped from an armchair, stretched, and continued walking towards Marcus.

While Pucey carefully lifted Murray from the cupboard and walked towards the sofa, he muttered a quiet "I don't even know what I'm not allowed to talk about. All day alone and my only friend doesn't talk to me about shit."

"Everybody is having a hard time and we use it to fuck, nothing else. That'll have to be enough for you and now ... shut up and let me read the Quidditch part," carefully, to protect the Daily Prophet from Cat's claws, he pulled the Quidditch part towards him.

"You...what? How did this even-"

"We're not talking about it. You've forgotten already?" He didn't feel like answering the same questions he was asking himself all the time. They had met at the opening game of the world championship and somehow it has gotten regularly. It was nothing. Just two adults pushing for more. Two adults who knew how dangerous what they were doing was for their careers and who just happened to get turned on by the same things. That was all. No talking and definitely no staying over afterwards. Okay, it might have happened once and Wood tried to get out before Marcus noticed but he tripped over a cat and mumbled a confused "Forgot you've a cat." And just got a sleepy "She's living here, nobody is 'having' her."

"Uhu ... you know they found Bole's daughter, right? We consider whether we should let her live with us." And so it continues. Pucey listed a thousand reasons for her staying with them and hardly any against it. They both knew what they'd do in the end, but the younger one had to hear himself listing each point. That was it to be a friend to Marcus Flint.

**~•~**

The first time they actually talked about anything other than Quidditch was when Flint felt Wood's elbow in his rips in the middle of the night and startled awake. 

It was kinda strange not to be alone in this apartment. It was kinda strange not to be alone overall. Especially with someone in his bed. Usually, he told a one night stand to go immediately after they had slept together or he didn't even take them to his place. He didn't know whether he was interested in the concept of 'not being alone' or whether it was just another uninteresting concept, like everything except Quidditch.

For a brief moment, when his eyes looked into the dark and found nothing to distract his mind, he wondered what had woken him up, then he heard someone taking unsteady, fast breathes and he turned the light on. "Wake up." He stared at the keeper, his face twisted in fear, his skin covered in sweat.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn't even get his own dreams under control. So, how was he supposed to help someone else? And why does it had to be Wood? Their strange rival - something had been so fucking easy and he had to ruin it. No, his fucking dick had to ruin it. Damn Wood with his sexy grin, his hot body, and his dumb nightmares.

Flint kicked the leg of the other man. "Wake up," he repeated forcefully and Wood's eyes snapped open. In the mission to find out where he was, his gaze briefly landed on Marcus but soon it turned into the distance. For a while, they didn't say anything. Flint just sat there, listening as the Keeper's breath got steady again, and Wood ran a hand through his hair.

It was odd. It was dumb. But it would be even more awkward if they stopped now. Maybe they could go back to where they left off. Yelling at each other across the field (not that they had stopped doing that, just because they were hooking up) just without beating each other bloody because every touch without the knowledge it would continue later, would cause him pain. (What was he doing? That didn't sound healthy at all. Not to mention normal and easy.) Or they'd never come back from it again. Such affairs did not last forever. Now that they were young and at the top of their careers, it was easy. But as soon as someone like Wood got older and noticed the attention he got ...

At some point the keeper found his voice again, "I should probably go."

Flint didn't have to think twice, "Or you take the kitten," he suggested, lifted the black fluffball from his pillow, and placed it on Wood's chest. "And I'll make coffee." It was a try. He didn't know why or for what but he got up and walked across the open space to the kitchen.

It was dumb. It was strange. And how the fuck did he end up here? Making coffee for Oliver Wood. Why hadn't he agreed? Why hasn't he told him to go? As he tried his luck at the coffee machine, he heard soft footsteps patting over the wooden floor. He didn't look up when he heard Wood sit down at the kitchen counter behind him. But he heard Cat purring softly. Traitor! Half the time she ignored him and when she didn't she stole his pillow, his seat, or lay down on his face. 

"Why am I holding a kitten?" he heard his voice asking.

"Cats were my old roommate's therapists. I thought they might trigger something in you what they didn't do for me." It was a total lie, but he wasn't going to admit this weakness in front of Oliver Wood. Not now and in no future, he could imagine.

"Oh...thanks," Marcus turned and raised an eyebrow at the keeper. "Then why do you have her? I mean, you live pretty much like I do. The apartment is simple and easy to keep clean so you don't get distracted too much. You don't have a partner because you prefer an arrangement like that one we have. Then why the cat?" 

Their arrangement. Was it really one? They had just never stopped. For Marcus, it was clear why he was staying. Anyone with eyes in the head could see it. But Wood ... why should he be satisfied with a troll? Because it was easy?

They didn't talk. They had never done it. What did he want him to say? He couldn’t tell him the truth. That he didn't like being completely alone all day. But he hated the thought of being around people who wanted to talk about every goddamn thing happening in their life when they were all just waiting for the perfect moment to leave him. So people weren't his thing.

When his parents nearly forced him to work for the Ministry, he needed something to distract his mind. Something that kept him from going insane. And since Flint had to repeat his last year on his own and had no one to talk about Quidditch or anything other than the future or exams, he thought Mr. Murray was the best solution. Murray had no one and also needed no one. Just rarely he sought attention and that was how Marcus felt as well. Sometimes he wanted to be left alone for weeks, but then there came this one day in a month he didn't want it to be like this. He couldn't. So there was Murray.

"There are two actually. This is the newer one. And they are living here...I don't own them. Also, they never ask stupid questions and most of the time they mind their own business."

"Everything I ain't. Everything I can't. Is this the reason you're such a grumpy, hot loner? Cause you can't stand people?," Wood teased and took the cup Flint handed him. "Thank you." 

Him? Hot? Sure. Why not. What?? Flint studied Wood's face. But the former Gryffindor seemed to tell the truth or he was a really good liar. Or he was talking about his dick. Then, yes, his dick was awesome.

"I can stand you...sometimes." Marcus sat down next to him and as he reached out for Cat, she gave him a withering look. Traitor...

"Yeah, when I'm not talking and busy doing other things," he shook his head then stared at him questioningly. "And why the coffee? Are you planning to stay awake and keep me company?," Wood glanced at him from behind long lashes.

The chaser rolled his eyes. "You're asking way too many questions." He ran his finger over the rim of his cup. 

There was silence again. But somehow they didn't mind.

"So it's a yes but you can't admit it," Wood studied Flint's side profile until he got a slight combination of a nod and shake of the head. "You're really a hot, grumpy loner. It is my honor to be found worthy of your company."

"Or you ain't worth my company and I'm just taking pity on someone sleeping as bad as I do."

The chaser's words got him a punch on the arm: "Oh, shame on you, Marcus Flint. How can you dare pity me? It's my own fault I dream such things. There is no pity needed. Ever."

Marcus smirked. "Did you really think ...? Nah. I'm way too cold-hearted to really sympathize with anyone. Especially you," Marcus emptied his cup the same moment Mr. Murray jumped onto the kitchen counter. "What are you dreaming of anyway, if it's your fault?" He really was dumb. Wasn't the reason for this talk not to ask about his dreams. Well done, Flint. Well done.

The Keeper gave him an irritated look, but said, "I could've saved more people. That day. At Hogwarts. I felt useless during and after the battle. Sick. So many people died there. I just..." He shook his head, then let out a joyless laugh. "You know this should be fun and distracting," he mentioned between the both of them. "You and the cats shouldn't be my therapists."

"Still, way too cold-hearted to care. I was sleeping, now my eyes are open. Let's talk about Quidditch anyway." And they were back to their new normal again.

**~•~**

Eventually, it got weird when they met in public by accident. Fortunately, they looked normal to the outside because even though they had a new arrangement, their rivalry was still intact. They'd never change who they are. Not for each other and certainly not just because they had good sex. Because it was just that: sex. And Quidditch was and would always be their life, their everything. 

After the failed championship their rivalry became the biggest talk. No game of Magpies and Puddlemore took place without them being overheard shouting nasty words at each other. And there was no game in which their fans didn't follow their example. No game without a bunch of reporters in the stands trying to encourage them even more. They were the number one talk. Everybody knew it, everybody wanted to see it, everybody wanted to hear them.

The weird things only happened as soon as there were only the two of them, them standing in a group, without a game coming up or them talking to coaches and players.

It started with Wood seeming to have a hard time taking his eyes off Marcus. And it started with Flint leaning into one of Wood's touches when the keeper was accidentally pushed against his side by a bypassing group. It went on with Wood spotting him in a crowd of spectators and him not knowing if he could come over. And it began to get really uncomfortable when someone flirted with Wood and the chaser of the Magpies felt inexplicable jealousy lit up inside him, so he had to leave. Their whole thing was casual. Nothing serious. They didn't talk about it, they just did what they wanted to. It was the only time they didn't need strategy and just played the way it felt natural. Of course, he had to screw it up.

And as if not enough, his relationship with Higgs and Pucey began to get kinda weird as well. It started on the day, they took Bole's child in. Flint had nothing against her. He wasn't a fan of kids ... Or maybe he was ... too busy? Too inexperienced? He had never thought about it. He was gay, and in the wizarding world adoption was something only a few talked about or were able to. Things had gotten better after the war, but it was still not the most normal topic. It was okay for Pucey to come over alone or with Higgs at his side, but now he brought the little babbling thing with him as well. And this was strange.

"She's drooling all over my quaffle," Marcus complained one evening as he was supposed to "take care" of her in his living room while the power couple was preparing food in the kitchen. He wasn't really paying attention, he just stared at her with suspicion and asked himself if she'd bring him the ball, like a good doggo if he'd throw it away.

Maybe he was just ... ten years too young to have kids around.

"You're not leaving her with Coco, that's the problem," Pucey whined as he emerged from behind him and made a grimace at the child. He was so fucking odd. He treated this child and the cats the same way. Was that normal? If someone had kids at all, it was to have an own Quidditch team, wasn't it? Sure, he'd treat them better than his parents had treated him ... But he'd never pretend they were a cat. Was he the odd one? 

"She pulled her tail. Your child's boredom is below the needs of my roommate's. Also, her name is Pawkin," Flint said what caused him to roll his eyes in annoyance. Yes, maybe never kids and just two cats, because that was obviously already too much for him.

"Parkin, as in the keeper?" Higgs asked, coming over to them as well to watch the drolling thing, who was unable to hold a Quaffle in her hands for long. Maybe there were kids that wanted to play Quidditch... He could take care of them. Or just cats. Because why should someone like him want to have children? After all, they were at home the whole time.

Ten years, maybe. 

"No, Pawkin, like...," Oliver Wood is a stupid idiot. "Paw-kin."

Higgs eyed him out of the corner of his eye then his gaze wandered through his apartment. "Since when did he move in with you?"

Flint glared at Pucey in warning. "He is not."

"Sure? 'Cause I'm quite sure this thing in your closet is a Puddlemore United uniform and there are also two toothbrushes in your bathroom. So ..." he shrugged and Marcus looked to Pucey again. "He didn't have to tell me anything, you're being careless .."

He should start doing his laundry on his own.

**~•~**

There was a bang and Flint looked up from the Daily Prophet just to see a grinning Oliver Wood in the middle of his apartment. It was the middle of the week. By now they knew each other's training plan by heart. Flint still thought it was odd. He watched Wood taking off his robe and sinking into the armchair across from him.

"Don't you have a home?" He asked, put his newspaper aside, and raised his eyebrow at Wood. He didn't know how to feel about the keeper's permanent presence in his apartment anymore. It wasn't just strange anymore. He had gotten used to it, but it wasn't really the plan and for sure Wood didn't feel the same ... although he apparently secretly moved in with him. Were they...?

"It's more exciting at yours," Wood said, but avoided Flint's eyes and fixed his on the season board they had made a few nights ago when the keeper couldn't sleep. Yeah, okay, they'd definitely crossed a line. But Marcus blankly realized he didn't mind.

"Why so?," Flint eyed him curiously.

"I... don't know...."

While he got up and made his way to the season board to rearrange some teams Flint replied with an easy, "It makes no sense that you're paying for an apartment when you live at mine anyway."

"I'm...not...I'm-" Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus could see the other man frowning, and a moment later, glancing at the chaser. "Wait. You wouldn't mind?"

"It wouldn't change anything anyway," while he was studying the blackboard, he said what had been on his mind for weeks. "This is no longer casual. It is no longer for me. It hasn't been for a long time," he paused and stared at his new tattoo, there was a sketch of a Quidditch pitch from his upper arm to his wrist. Starting at the top with three rings and an undefined keeper and ending at the bottom with the middle of the field and an attacking chaser. "No, I wouldn't mind as long as no one finds out and we didn't jeopardy our careers. I wouldn't mind if we're sure it won't change us too much." That was the first time he had consciously shown Wood a weakness. But he didn't care. Either it ended eventually because Wood found someone better than him, it ended now, or it ended because Flint had never found the courage to tell him the truth. Now, soon or sometime. It'd always be painful. And it was his fault because he had let it happen. Now he just couldn't let himself sink any deeper without being aware of it.

The chaser turned his head to the keeper. His mouth was open and he mouthed, "You like me," but he didn't say it out loud.

"It has already changed us," Wood explained and rocked nearer to the end of the sofa, nearer to Marcus. "We've normal conversations. And you let me mind your business. I can tell you what is on my mind without you being all strange about it. You stay awake with me all night. Which is really nice, thanks for that again. And you aren't yelling at me, even though I've nightmares almost every night."

"It's getting better," Flint said to assure him, that he didn't mind. "Are you still thinking that this bitchy little asshole you've met at Hogwarts was everything I've going on?"

"No, but I thought you'd definitely talk and complain more," Wood gave him a grateful smile.

"We still fight."

"Yeah ... but in a hot way," Wood grinned got wider but he hid it in the crook of his arm.

"You're so goddamn cheesy," Flint teased but nevertheless went over to sit down next to him.

"So ... if I'd move in with you. Would I be allowed to call Marcus Flint my boyfriend in private?" He slid a little closer to the chaser and buried a hand in his hair.

"I wouldn't go that far," but he grinned anyway and after a while, he nodded and rolled his eyes.

**~•~**

It was one day in may they officially told their friends and laid on the ground after a game between friends, when Wood leaned over to him and mumbled a soft "I love you," and Marcus finally thought that maybe not all people were ment to leave him.


End file.
